Night of the Scarecrow
by millennium-night
Summary: After the recent mass break-out at Arkham, Jervis and Jonathan flee from the Batman. This time, however, their encounter changes Crane in an unpredictable and possibly disastrous way, putting his friendship with the Hatter on an acid test...
1. The Escape

_I don't own the mentioned characters, they belong to DC Comics. This was written purely for fun._

This is chapter one of my very first and presently only multi-chaptered fanfiction. I started it in March 2010, yet it still isn't finished. Although I have several chapters ready by now, I'm not going to upload them all at once.

I also drew an illustration to each chapter. If you are interested, you can find the links in my profile.

That's all for now, I hope you enjoy reading! :)

* * *

Jonathan Crane ran through the dark mazelike alleyways of Gotham where no rational civilian dared to set foot at night. The heavy rain's pouring covered the scarcely audible sounds his feet made when touching the ground. A wind gust caught the coat of his scarecrow costume and made him feel as if he were flying, like a large black crow in the pale moonlight. He quickened his pace and was about to turn around a corner when he heard a voice cry from behind through the rain:

"Wait for me! I'm not as fast as you!"

Unnerved, Jonathan turned around and waited for the distant black silhouette of his friend Jervis Tetch to come closer. This was the third time within fifteen minutes he was slowed down because of him! Impatiently Crane shifted his weight from one foot to another as the smaller man finally reached him. Exhausted, the Mad Hatter breathed heavily.

"I can't - … need … break!"

"We don't have time for this now. Do you want the Bat to catch us? It's not my intention to go back to Arkham so soon. C'mon!"

Before poor Jervis had a chance to answer Jonathan grabbed his arm and forced him to continue running. He hated treating his friend like that, but they really had to hurry if they wanted to escape the Batman's searching eye as they were nearly defenceless. After breaking free from the Asylum (at which they had unintentionally freed some of the other villains, too) they had neither the Scarecrow's fear gas nor the Mad Hatter's mind control device which the guards had taken from them at Arkham. Now their only chance was to get to Jonathan's hideout as soon as possible (since it was the one closest to them by now) to take a few capsules of fear toxin for their own safety.

Just at this moment another wind gust blew away Jervis' large hat.

" My hat, my lovely hat!" The Hatter stopped abruptly, a shocked expression on his face. Jonathan watched in disbelieve as his companion immediately ran after this stupid hat even as it was blown back into the street they were coming from. The auburn haired man growled - then he let out a resigned sigh and joined his friend chasing his hat. Since he was much taller than Jervis he managed to grab it easily within a few big steps ad handed it back to a very grateful hatter.

"Thanks a lot, Jonathan." He put his oversized hat back onto his head, his face showing the happy smile typical of him.

"Never mind, but..." Crane was cut short by a batarang which barely missed his left arm and hit the asphalt behind him with a sharp, clanking sound. They both looked up and saw a big black figure gliding down a roof top directly heading for them.

"Run!" he shouted through clenched teeth and repressed a curse. Why did the Bat always appear when he was least needed? But the so called 'Dark Knight' would not beat them again, not this time! While quickly moving through the dark alleys Jonathan scanned his environment carefully for any place to hide.

The plain metal of a second batarang flashed up next to his eyes as it cut through the cloth of his mask.

"Jonathan! Over there!" Crane's gaze swept to where the Mad Hatter was pointing at as he spotted a huge old factory building in the distance. Its vast dimensions would give them at least some extra time to play cat and mouse, if not even a chance to get away before the Bat realized it. He nodded to his friend in agreement and they headed for the building's back door.

It was locked, of course, and it did not even give in as they both threw their weight against it. Jonathan gave Jervis a hestitated look - what option was left now? The Hatter, however, stayed strangely calm and grinned in a triumphal way as he pulled out something small from the inside of his hat.

"What is that supposed to mean?" The taller man could barely hide his irritation. He nervously looked all around him, but the Bat was nowhere to see.

"It's something which we can use to open that lock." Jervis hold it up so that his friend could recognise it as a small sewing needle. This was indeed useful, Jonathan had to admit. He took it and carefully put it into the keyhole - as a result they soon heard a satisfying click when the door unlocked and revealed a vast hall as it swung aside with a creaky sound.

He could not suppress a smile under his scarecrow mask. "Let's move in fast, we've already stayed at this door for too long. I bet the Bat has heard its noise." He paused for a moment.

"Uh, Jervis?"

"Yes, Jonathan?"

"Why the heck do you have a sewing needle hidden in your hat?"

"What a silly question - in case you need to sew anything, of course. Then it comes in handy and additionally, it holds the label of my dearest hat in place.

"Ah." Wondering, but not giving it a second thought, Crane shrugged and they disappeared into the building.

* * *

_A/N: I'm not sure whether I still like the title. It had been more of an working title anyway, but I'll leave it this way for now._


	2. Who is afraid of the big, bad Bat?

Jonathan Crane put off his mask to have a better view. The eye slots were a little too small, he decided, he would have to work on it later.

No light burned in the factory's large hall and the lack of proper windows did not make it easier to see anything at all - but he immediately recognised the sharp smell of chemicals in the air.

Half-blind, Jonathan and Jervis made their way through the nightly darkness and finally reached a heavy white security door. 'Storage Depot - only for authorized personnel' was written on it in bold black letters, which was as good as an invitation.

"It's open," the Mad Hatter discovered and frowned in surprise.

As soon as Jonathan entered the room, the smell of chemicals became stronger, even somewhat familiar... His head began to ache, but he ignored it. His slim fingers felt for the light switch at the wall behind him and found it. Soon the whole room was lit up by a few single neon tubes which gave an unhealthily yellowish but bright light.

It revealed rows of high metal shelves, each of them filled with dusty bottles and canisters of all sizes.

Whatever kind of factory this might have been once, nobody had used it for a long time, the auburn-haired man mused.

Another wave of headache struck his head and blocked every thought emerging his mind. He raised a hand to massage his temple as he suddenly heard a hoarse whisper. It was the Scarecrow, his hidden persona, trying to get attention.

_'You... have... ignored meee...'_

'I know.' It was the only answer Crane could think of. He knew the Scarecrow was always there, watching every single step of his, although mostly remaining silent. It did not bother him. What, however, did bother him was the fact that it always appeared in the most unfitting moments interrupting him with its comments and ideas. These were usually of creepy, annoying or curious nature, but sometimes also surprisingly useful.

_'You wanna go back to Arkhaaam...?'_

'Of course not, you know we've just escaped from there!'

_'Then use these... chemicals... to bring feeeear again' _The great desire with which it spoke the last words was unmistakeable.

Very well, Jonathan thought, let's give it a try.

* * *

Meanwhile a serious Jervis Tetch watched him in worry.

Crane was aware of not having moved while listening to the Scarecrow's thoughts. Finally he shook his head and his gaze wandered to the bottles labeled with various symbols of danger before resting on his friend who seemed greatly relieved.

Still hearing the straw man's hoarse voice in his mind he told the Hatter about his (their) idea:

"I guess I can recreate my fear toxin by mixing some of these substances," Jonathan said and took out some of them of a shelf.

"Are you sure? How can you mix them in the correct proportions if you just put them together, don't you have to be exact in these things?" Jervis scratched his head looking sceptically.

"I said I can manage it. Just let me work and keep looking out for the Bat."

"Jonathan, you don't even know how old these are!," the Mad Hatter said and proved his point by blowing on a grey canister next to him. A big cloud of dust rose from its surface in Jonathan's direction and made him cough.

"Okay, stop it! I know it's not without risk, but it may be our only ticket out of here." Crane saw his friend rolling his eyes, but luckily he made no further remark and turned to keep an eye on the main hall of the factory while Jonathan was working.

* * *

They both were startled by the sudden noise of breaking glass.

"He's in the big hall! Have you finished yet?," the Mad Hatter asked and hastily closed the door.

"Well... let's say I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Jonathan carefully filled the slightly glowing liquid into a special capsule with a spraying mechanism attached to the inside of his sleeve. He heard the Scarecrow giggle with excitement as he put on his mask again. "Switch off the light!"

Everything went dark. As soon as their eyes got used to it, they tiptoed to the door and slunk into the main hall without a sound.

Far away across the hall they saw a weak shimmer of moonlight shining through the old door they had entered the building. Jonathan quickly analysed the situation and doubted they could reach it without being discovered. A shadow covered one of the tiny windows to his right, just for the blink of an eye. He immediately turned his head, but saw nothing.

"We have to find another way out," Jervis whispered and impatiently pulled on the coat of his friend's costume.

The tall man abruptly turned around and warningly raised a hand to make him silent. He carefully moved along the wall, always staying in the shadows, closely followed by the Mad Hatter who had no choice but trust his friend. As they reached one of the huge chemical tanks Jonathan suddenly pulled the Hatter behind it and explanatory pointed at a shadow which slowly moved towards them.

"Now listen closely," Jonathan addressed his increasingly nervous friend. "When the Bat passes this container over there, I'll have to use the fear toxin to confuse him - which means you'll have to wear my mask. It has an air filter inside which will prevent you from being affected by the gas."

He took it off and handed it to the smaller man who hesitated to accept it.

"But… but what about you?"

"I'm immune to most of my creations." … or at least used to them, Crane added in thoughts. He did not exactly know which effect his spontaneously mixed toxin would have, but he instantly hoped it would not influence him too mach. He was confident, though, relying on the Scarecrow's strong and, most of all, fearless personality.

"There is really no need to worry. Believe me, it wouldn't be very helpful if you screamed and struggled in terror, so please take it!" His voice became insistently sharp.

It was just in time as the Hatter finally put on the mask since the Batman had just approached them close enough to attack. Crane took a deep breath, then he stepped around the tank, facing the Batman's dark silhouette.

Everything happened fast - Jonathan almost did not notice himself that he stretched out his slim arm and activated the toxin's spray mechanism with a special movement of his hand before his opponent could even react. A nearly invisible cloud of fear gas scattered into the Bat's direction. As it came in contact with the air it immediately reacted to a great mass of smoke which soon surrounded everything around them like greenish fog.

Jonathan felt the familiar sensation of the gas intruding into his lungs and he turned around to make sure Jervis was alright. He signified his friend to follow him, realizing it was not quite his own gesture anymore. He smiled and stepped back to let the Scarecrow take over to protect both of them from the fear gas's effect.

He suddenly felt the irresistible urge to laugh - the straw man had just noticed that the smaller man had put on their frightening mask back to front and was still searching for the eye slots - which looked even more hilarious combined with his green Hatter suit. Quickly restraining itself, the Scarecrow led Jervis through the fog while giving the Bat a wide berth. It somehow enjoyed the sight of the infamous Batman coughing and trying to prevent himself from breathing in more of the gas by holding his cape in front of his mouth, even though he was not screaming like its usual victims. He was visibly impaired by the toxin since he showed a lack of orientation. As a result the Scarecrow could not resist making a face at him before it and the Mad Hatter vanished into the darkness.

* * *

_A/N: You can find the link to the (this time more quickly drawn) illustration in my profile page. First appearance of Scarecrow in this chapter :)_


	3. The Trouble Begins

Jervis Tetch had a stretch before he let himself fall into a big, comfortable looking armchair. His green coat lay on the back of a chair and his trademark, the oversized green hat, rested on his lap. He ran a hand through his blonde hair and sighed – what an exhausting night it had been!

They had arrived at Jonathan's hideout about ten minutes ago. Although Jervis had been there before, he was always surprised anew by how ordinary it looked inside.

Massive wooden bookshelves stood at three of the room's walls and surrounded a neat little composition of a couch, its corresponding table and the armchair he was sitting in.

Everything was clean as no dust lay anywhere. Tasteful reddish-brown curtains half covered the room's only window and completed the image of a simple yet inviting living room.

The only piece of furniture that hinted at its owner's double life was a huge desk in the next room with literally half a chemistry lab standing on it - Jervis could spot the test tubes through the open door.

Ordinary, almost boring.

Sure, most of the books and magazines dealed with psychology and fear as far as he could see, but he had at least expected some Halloween decoration or a kind of creepy, bloody writing on the walls... If he were the Scarecrow instead of the Mad Hatter, he would definitely have it, Jervis mused and smiled while thinking of his own secret little place.

Lost in thought he petted his hat as if it were a cat and watched the clouds pass by outside. It was still quite dark, but the greyish veil which had replaced a deeply dark blue promised a soon breaking dawn.

The sound of foot steps interrupted him and he looked up to see his friend entering the room, humming in a light-hearted way. Surprised, he discovered that the taller man still wore his Scarecrow suit and mask.

"How can you bear putting on that piece of burlap again? It is horribly scratchy!"

"Really? Never noticed it before. I feel... at ease with it, just as you do with your hat."

"A- ha." Jervis gazed down at his hat, then doubtfully back to Jonathan. "If you say so..."

He knew from experience that it was quite unusual, even for the self-appointed Master of Fear, to wear his full costume at home - even more considering he, on the one hand, used to complain about the limited sight through the eye slots, while he, on the other hand, claimed to have a lack of time to refit them.

"The difference is... that people won't laugh about my outward appearance."

"E- Excuse me?" The Hatter jumped up, a hurt and puzzled expression on his face, but his opposite seemed to be dead serious. Who did his friend think he was?

Suddenly the smaller man had a hunch:

"Jonathan...?," he asked distrustingly.

"Jonathan Crane isn't here right now. But if you'd like to make an appointment..." The Scarecrow burst out laughing hysterically, which unfortunately proved the blond's idea.

Great, Jervis thought. He should have known it was the Scarecrow. Despite the fact Jonathan and his second persona shared the same body, their personalities differed a lot from each other - or at least that was the impression Jervis got. He remembered one of these extremely rare occasions of being alone with his friend in Arkham when he had told him about it for the first time. Generally, Jonathan hardly spoke of the straw man since he felt it revealed too much of his own self, as he had mentioned once.

Jervis himself had already 'met' the Scarecrow in person several times before, usually when they teamed up for a crime spree or whenever Jonathan lost control over his second half. The blond-haired man disliked the Scarecrow a great deal as it used to be very mean to him just for the sake of always and everywhere proving how superior it was. Nonetheless Jervis had to admit that it doubtlessly lived up to its reputation - if it wanted, it could be terribly frightening... A cold shiver ran down his spine at this thought. He had to be careful, in this state his friend was unpredictable.

"Very funny," he finally responded to the straw man's bad joke while the latter was still giggling. "Now, can I talk to Jonathan?," he asked in a kinder tone.

His opposite paused for a moment and demonstratively put a gloved hand at its chin as if giving it a thought. Suddenly a malicious glare appeared in its eyes and behind the mask its lips formed a smirk.

"No," it simply said and provokingly waited for the Hatter's reaction.

Jervis rose his arms in annoyance and resignedly let them fall again. He would not be lucky with the Scarecrow this night, he decided.

"Very well, I'll leave now."

The Mad Hatter took his coat and put on his large hat with an expansive gesture before he headed for the front door.

He stopped on the threshold. "I strongly recommend you to rest, straw man. Even if you don't need it, think of him - we've been up all night." With this, he exited the Scarecrow's hideout and went to his own.

* * *

_A/N: The illustration link is on my profile page, as always. Thanks for reading!  
_


	4. A Spoiled Tea Party

Two days had passed since the mass breakout at Arkham.

The Batman had already managed to catch most of the common escapees, but the majority of the so called 'Rogues Gallery' was still on the loose. The police had not been able to prevent the news from appearing in all media - it had spread like wildfire and caused panic among the people of Gotham, even though nothing remarkably terrible had occurred so far.

The villains, acting like the criminal geniuses among them, had decided to hide themselves until the dust would have settled.

Thus it did not come as a big surprise that a certain one could be found at his present home during this sunny yet chilly afternoon:

In a little house on the outskirts of Gotham the Mad Hatter sat at the table in his kitchen and relaxed. Despite the sun shining brightly outside, no daylight entered the room through the closed shutters or drawn curtains which covered all windows.

It was a measure of precaution - as soon as a neighbour discovered his true identity he would be forced to move to another place.

His Carroll obsession was obvious and expressed itself in every piece of furniture, at every wall and even in every book (besides his big hat collection, he proudly called more than 176 different editions of 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland' and its sequel his own) - so everyone who merely caught a glimpse of it would immediately suspect him to be who he was.

However, Jervis had put a lot of effort into the furnishings of his current home. He was very content with the result and did not plan to give it up in the near future.

The kitchen was not dark at all - instead it was lit up by several unusual and weird looking lamps and the TV's pale light. Bored by the TV program (some girls in a talk show chatted about tickets for an upcoming event in town), he just waited for a special report about the latest research results concerning the human mind ( and ways to manipulate it, of course).

A steaming cup of earl grey tea stood in front of him. He took a small sip of the hot liquid and breathed in its aroma. He sighed - this was very good tea, indeed! Jervis was about to lean back on his chair when the news speaker's voice caught his attention.

"...the breaking news: Terror strikes in Gotham. This morning a lot of terrified people could be seen running through the streets of Gotham and screaming.

According to the police, they have been affected by an unknown kind of hallucinogen which causes people to have disturbing and terrifying visions and blocks any rational thinking. While the true number of victims is not known yet, the ones who have been picked up still require mental treatment."

Recordings of this morning's events showed a young woman trying to escape from a policeman, her features signalizing great terror. Jervis rose an eyebrow and frowned. He took another sip of his tea.

"In a current press conference Comissioner James Gordon just said that his team suspects one of Gotham's most feared supervillains, the Scarecrow, to be the one to blame."

The view on the screen switched to an interview with the Comissioner.

"...an anonymous source confirms that it is the Scarecrow's handwriting, but it is shocking how incredibly fast so many people have been affected by this... toxin within half a day. Therefore, we presume that he was helped by the Mad Hatter aka Jervis Tetch, considering it had been these two who had caused and led the mass breakout at Arkham on..."

Jervis did not listen any further to the Comissioner's explanations - as soon as he saw a picture of himself being shown next to Jonathan's in the news he choked on his tea which resulted in a heavy coughing fit. When he eventually managed to calm down he stared at the TV's screen in wide-eyed disbelieve. Stunned and impressed at the same time, he wondered what had gotten into his friend that made him act so rashly. Jonathan usually took quite a long time to plan his crimes as he wanted everything to work perfectly.

"Curious...," the Hatter said to no one in particular and replaced the fragile cup on its saucer.

He shrugged. Whatever, he was still looking forward to the TV report - and finally the news speaker began to announce it! Unfortunately, what he said was not exactly what Jervis had expected:

"Due to the acuteness of Gotham's current crisis we won't broadcast Dr. Grisham's 'Journey to the Human Mind'. We apologize for the sudden change of program and will show you an analysis of the Batman's assessment of the situation instead."

That's it, the Mad Hatter thought and clenched his teeth. Jonathan risked being caught again - none of Jervis's business. His friend drew him into his trouble - fine, considering it was not really Jon's fault this time. But spoiling his well-earned afternoon was absolutely unacceptable!

Immediately he leapt to his feet and searched for a large bag in which he could carry his green hat (it was difficult enough not to be recognized without it these days) before he left the house to pay his fearsome friend a visit.

* * *

_A/N: Again it's a short chapter, but the next one will be longer. The illustration link is on my profile page, as always, and thanks for reading._


	5. Chapter 5

Cunningly Jervis had a look around the corner before he quickly took a step forward into the deserted street, his back pressed against the dirty, grey house wall. He walked along the road at a quickened pace and kept his head downcast while he tried to attract as few attention as possible. He had already seen at least six wanted posters of himself on his way and he knew it was merely a matter of time until someone recognised him. This was becoming quite troublesome, the small man decided, and he began to wonder whether he should cut his blond mane - or maybe even dye it? It would definitely simplify matters, but Jervis clinged to his hair too much to do it.

He had almost arrived at Jonathan's safe hideout which was located in an abandoned office building near the docks when he finally came across a young girl at the age of 14. "She doesn't know you, nothing will happen. Just walk past her," the Mad Hatter thought as he approached the young lady, his whole body stained. He froze as he suddenly heard the girl's voice:

"Excuse me, please, can you tell me what time it is?"

"Uhm, of course..." Jervis briefly shook his head to get rid of the puzzled expression on his face and opened his bag to take out a slightly oversized pocket watch. It had a long, silvery chain attatched to it and looked a lot like the one a certain Hatter had used in Lewis Carroll's famous book. Before he realized his mistake, the girl said:

"Nice watch! Have never seen this kind before. You know, it reminds me of..." The teenager stopped in the middle of her sentence and Jervis saw her eyes become wide in sudden horror.

"N-Never mind, I- I mean- sorry to disturb you," she stammered while inconspicuously taking a few steps backwards.

The Hatter cautiously put his watch back into his large bag, his blue eyes keeping fixed on the girl's. His facial expression was unreadable as he slowly approached the slightly panicking youth.

"H-Hey, please, I-I won't tell anyone, I promise. No need to worry, r-really..." The girl's voice became more high-pitched every second until it trailed off.

"Look, I cannot afford to be seen here, to let people know where I am," The Mad Hatter finally replied when he stopped right before her. With this, Jervis drew out a small card of his coat-pocket and held it up. It was white and had the same black '10/6' lettering on it as the label of his trademark hat. He felt uneasy as he saw the fear written in the teenager's face - he was not the Scarecrow, after all! In fact, he firmly rejected the thought of taking pleasure from scaring others to death, for he knew fear as something so nightmarish that he wished it nobody.

"Oh, it's most unpleasant for me to do this, believe me. I won't hurt you, you will actually soon find yourself at your home and you'll have forgotten our little incident."

The teenage girl was about to run away, but a quick, aimed throw out of his hand placed the mind control card between her black strands of hair before she was able to react. Her fearful gaze relaxed immediately and became empty. Stiffly she turned around and walked away without a sound, leaving the Hatter alone in the street.

The blond man sighed - he hated using his mind control devices on an innocent child, even if this time it would only cause a terrible headache and the weird feeling of not remembering what had happened during the past two hours.

Watching her go away had painfully reminded him of Alice Pleasance, his former love... How frightened she had looked, how cold her eyes had been when the two-legged Bat had saved her - saved her from him! It had broken his heart. He felt a stitch deep inside his chest and quickly shook off the thought before it overwhelmed him completely.

* * *

No further incidents occurred on Jervis's way and he entered the old office building untroubledly.

Standing in front of the door, he had intended to knock on it, but it already swung open a crack as soon as his hand touched it. Surprised, he asked himself why it was not locked and drew breath while opening it fully to call for his friend - but all he was able to get out was a startled shriek when he saw the incredible mess in the hallway. This place looked as if a tornado had raged inside!

Open books were spread on the floor as if dropped carelessly, frames and posters were ripped off the walls and the cushion of the couch and the armchair was torn up. But the most notable change was the colours. The formerly cream-coloured walls were messily painted over in black now which gave the rooms a dark atmosphere despite the sunlight shining in.

"Jonathan? What for the Red Queen's sake has happened here?," Jervis shouted while stepping into the kitchen/laboratory. It did not look any better, for almost everything was covered with squirts of various chemicals which he recognized by the typical smell. Nonetheless, he could spot his friend nowhere.

"Hello!," a hoarse voice suddenly whispered close to his left ear.

The Hatter spun around, a hand placed on his heavily beating heart.

"Good gracious! Jonathan, don't you do that again, I almost got a heart attack!"

"Did you? Oh, we wouldn't want that, would we?," the taller man said and smirked through his burlap mask.

"Oh, it's you, Scarecrow!" Jervis felt the strong urge to turn around and leave at once, but instead he cautiously set down his bag, making sure it did not touch more of the suspicious liquid than necessary.

"Yep, it's me, kiddo. Y'know, I've somehow expected you to come earlier. But never mind, I want to show you my latest creation" The Scarecrow gestured in direction of the table. "Isn't it glorious? After months of research and failure I've finally made a big step ahead again!" Euphoria swung in its voice, which was such a rare curiosity that it seemed contradictory to hear it come from the Scarecrow's mouth.

The Hatter eyed the chaos on the table carefully and tried to figure out what the straw man thought to be so obvious to see.

Without waiting for the blond's reaction, it picked up a tiny bottle of liquid which glowed in a familiar green colour and explained: "This is the very essence of fear, a weapon of incredible power, unfortunately discovered by accident rather than intentionally..."

"Let me guess - it's a fear toxin?," Jervis said unimpressed.

"No, you foolish joke of a villain," it snapped, "it is the fear toxin! Remember when Jonny-boy was forced to improvise at mixing a toxin in the old factory building a few days ago? Just a little inaccuracy caused by human imperfection led to a quite different result and created a fear-inducing toxin that neither can be proven in the body nor can it be cured!"

Jervis ignored the insult. "But… wait - what did you just say? Seriously, you don't want to tell me that you have no antidote for this stuff, do you?" the smaller man asked a little shocked.

"There is none, it's just perfect," Jon's alter ego murmured rather to itself than to its opposite and caressed the small bottle's glass surface with spidery fingers in an almost tender way.

"Are you crazy! Have you ever tested it properly before poisoning half Gotham with it? What if it has unexpected side effects, or if it affects you?" …or me? Jervis honestly had not intended to become loud, but by this time he began to seriously doubt his friends so-called sanity. In addition, he suddenly remembered why he had come in the first place - because the Scarecrow was responsible for him being in the news, which had spoiled his relaxing TV afternoon - thus increasing his anger even more.

He shouted at the much taller man in the scarecrow suit, "You usually plan every coup of yours so well, consider all factors to eliminate unnecessary risks, or rather Jonathan does. By the way, I still can't believe that he actually allowed you to do this to his hideout!"

He violently gestured at the destroyed furniture around them.

"Do you even know what it is like to be really afraid, oh '_Almighty God of Fear'_? Your usual toxins had at least no lasting effect, but can you imagine how horrible it would be to feel this terror for ever-"

"SHUT UP!" the Scarecrow yelled, shaking with rage, "How dare you allege we had not experienced fear ourselves? You know _nothing_ about us!" It seemingly had not noticed switching to the plural. It threateningly planted itself in front of Jervis while the latter immediately realized he had gone too far, but now there was no way to undo it.

He watched the blue of its eyes behind the mask become as cold as steel - the pupils narrowed, leaving the impression of a furious, all-devouring vortex which had absolutely nothing in common with Jonathan Crane's human blue eyes anymore.

The small blond felt like a mouse facing a snake, shocked and unable to move. Never had he seen the Scarecrow in such a rage before, for it seemed rather beast than man at the moment. He detected a needle in its right hand/claw _- where had it come from, all of a sudden! -_ which was connected to a tube of the ominously green-glowing liquid.

"What are you doing, Scarecrow? Don't do anything stupid- …" Jervis voice was quaking and he felt himself become pale, though he much hoped the straw man had not noticed it.

Then things started to happen very fast.

When it suddenly moved the needle quickly towards him, he unintentionally panicked and stumbled while trying to bring a safe distance between them, which resulted in him harshly landing on his back.

Just in time when the Scarecrow lunged at him, the Hatter reflexively threw his short legs up. Somehow he managed - much to his own surprise - to lift his opponent's weight and pushed it off of him so that the Scarecrow's body spun over, hitting the floor as well.

Grabbing this chance, the small blond immediately struggled to his feet and fan to the front door, just to find it locked.

"Oh, pish tosh!" he hissed through gritted teeth and quickly considered the options left to him. A mind control card would be the perfect device to defend himself, but, alas, he had used it on the girl in the street. The others lay in his bag in the kitchen which was too far away now.

_Note to self: always carry several cards at your body in the future!_

Perhaps he had a second one?

_No time, no time!_

Hectically he searched in every pocket of his coat until his hand felt something of hard material. So he actually had a second one! He was not as helpless as he looked, after all. Tensed, he waited for the Scarecrow to appear. He was prepared for everything - everything, except for what followed.

"Got you," a hoarse voice suddenly whispered much too close to him.

"Oh, not again-," was all the Hatter could think before gloved claws slammed him down.

He hit the ground painfully hard, causing his vision to become black for a moment - and as soon as he had recovered, the frumious beast was already above him. It pinned down his wrists and ankles, thus making it impossible to either use the mind control device or to escape.

The Scarecrow's lips formed a triumphal smirk while it approached the needle to its victim's shoulder anew.

Jervis frantically squirmed and writhed under its firm grip, not least because he was running out of air, but it was in vain. He could do nothing but watch the monster with his friend's face in horror, his eyes looking asquint as he tried to focus the point of the needle.

In sheer desperation he cried, "Jonathan, for our friendship's sake, STOP IT!"

* * *

To be continued.

_A/N: So here's the next chapter, and it's even quite a long one. I don't know why I included the first part with the girl, but it was fun to write XD_  
_And mean cliffhanger is mean. : D Illustration link's on my profile page & thanks for reading!_


	6. Power Play

The Scarecrow enjoyed the sight of the trembling, helpless body beneath it, of the pale, ashen face and the baby-blue eyes that widened in panic, enjoyed the smell of fear which lay so thick in the air that it almost seemed within one's grasp - in fact, all this excited it to an uncontrollable rush. Not even the urging voice welling up from deep inside its mind where it had locked it could lower this great euphoria, therefore making it easy to ignore it.

However, for some reason the needle which it was about to induce the fear toxin with stopped only millimeters above its victim's skin. No matter how hard it tried to move it further, it stayed where it was, blocked by an invisible force.

"Let go of me," it shouted, angry and disappointed at the same time, "you're ruining everything!"

In bitter frustration it realized it would never have a chance to physically hurt this ridiculous little creature quailing beneath it since it simply was not within its powers to fully ignore its alter ego's wishes. Not yet.

Nevertheless, it felt betrayed - and it hated any kind of defeat. However, there was more important business to do at the moment, it told itself in order to calm down. Besides, it knew other effective ways to get what it wanted...

* * *

Jervis felt immense relief combined with great exhaustion when the Scarecrow finally let up on him and drew back. However, mistrusting the situation, he did not show it and hurried to struggle to his feet. He took a few steps backwards, still in a slightly crouched posture, and prepared himself to run, if necessary.

Despite his state of shock, he could not help but wonder about the odd behaviour the straw man had shown moments ago. Of course he had noticed that he had not been the one who it had addressed, but what it had said did not make any sense to him.

Since the Scarecrow had not moved or said anything yet - it just stood there, watching him with an unreadable expression behind the mask, which was definitely not comforting either - Jervis dared to examine his aching wrists. He was not surprised to discover that its strong grip had left its marks - there would certainly be bruises tomorrow.

He knew Jonathan had remarkable stamina and strength, even more when the Scarecrow took over. The second personality in him seemingly lowered his sense of pain which often caused a more daring and careless behaviour. Underestimating this was a common mistake made by policemen, Arkham staff and even the Batman, probably due to Crane's slim, almost fragile appearance.

Eventually, the motionless figure raised its voice again, "To satisfy your obvious curiosity - neither did I ask for, nor do I need _anyone's_ permission to redecorate this place." It spoke in a calm yet unmistakably cold manner. "But let's put this one thing clear: If you ever - just _slightly_ - ..._annoy_ me again, you might never talk to our dear Jonathan again for your _entire miserable life_."

This had not missed its intended effect.

-and the Scarecrow was fully aware of it.

A sly smile appeared on its face while Jervis felt a cold shiver run down his spine in reaction to the well-placed threat.

He observed the Scarecrow walk - or rather float, as it seemed, since its torn cape covered the movement of its legs - to the door, where slim, gloved fingers drew out a key of its long sleeve and unlocked it.

"Feel free to go or stay, as long as you stick to the rules, of course," it said simply, lacking any emotion, and headed for the lab/kitchen without bothering to wait for the Hatter's decision.

"Wait! Does that mean that he was ...you for the whole three days?" the latter shouted insecurely, but it was already gone.

He stood there for a while, trying to figure out what exactly had led to the recent rather disastrous events. These extreme changes of mood displayed by the straw man, up or down all of a sudden like a rollercoaster, were becoming quite confusing.

He shook his head - no matter how tempting it was to learn more about his friend's alter ego's plans, after nearly being killed he did not feel like staying any longer at all. In fact, the headache caused by the hit on the floor his head had suffered was coming back and his whole body screamed for escape.

When he briefly entered the kitchen again to pick up his bag, the Scarecrow was humming an unfamiliarly sounding nursery rhyme while happily mixing some chemicals.

_Quite confusing, indeed._

_

* * *

__A/N: What happened to Jervis after the end of chapter 5? Here you have the answer!_  
_I just realized that this chapter is rather short - the next one will be a little longer again._

_Fist time of Scarecrow's POV, btw^^ The illustration link is on my profile page, and thanks for reading._


	7. Final Tests

Late August - the brightness of the day used to stay long during this time of the year. From afar the time-honoured tower clock which watched over St. Andrew's Place hit ten o' clock in the evening. The sun had just set, dying the cloudless sky in a spectrum of colours that reached from red over deep purple to a dark midnight blue. A gentle breeze whirled up some leaves from the cobbled pathways in Gotham Seaside Park, its coolness being a harbinger of the upcoming night.

A lot of people still occupied the benches, fewer since the attacks had started, though, and enjoyed the beautiful view on the sea as well as on the black silhouette of Gotham's skyline against the horizon that bordered it on the left side.

It was a nicely arranged, rectangle-shaped park - there was a line of flower beds behind the benches, parallel to the paths, small trees were planted in each corner and a big, ancient one grew in the center - everything else was fresh, green grass. In short: It was easy to overlook, which meant there were no places to hide, consequently making it safe.

Or so they thought.

Little did they know of the pair of obscure eyes which had been observing them for hours through the thick branchwood and foliage of the big tree.

Tonight the Scarecrow would run a final test on the new toxin - and it had already spotted the perfect test subject: A young woman who had been sitting on the bench closest to the water for almost as long as the Scarecrow had been hiding in the tree top.

She was bent over a green notebook and had not turned once to look about since her mind was completely focused on her work which seemed to occupy all of her senses. She had obviously forgotten time, which was the reason why the Master of Fear had chosen her.

Its patience was finally rewarded an hour later when she was the only person left in the park.

Surrounded by the pitch-darkness, it silently climbed down the tree within a few seconds, its double-jointed arms and legs enabling skillful, but weird-looking monkey-like moves.

Suddenly, its subject looked up, causing the Scarecrow to stop approaching. It hesitated for a moment, then decided to remain at its place and watch first, using the broad trunk as a cover.

* * *

The night had, honestly, taken her by surprise - had she actually been typing her report for more than four hours? To her, it had seemed like one.

Whatever, at least it was finished now. She had to hand it in the next morning, if she wanted to keep her job at 'Laboratorium', Gotham's only serious, gossip-less science magazine.

Currently, she was admittedly a mere secretary there - again - but her employer had offered all of his 'lower employees', as he called them, a chance to write something for the next issue. If her entry was printed, she would finally fulfill her secret, long kept dream of becoming a science journalist.

While she saved her file and shut down her notebook, she noticed that something was strange about her environment, different. Soon she realized it was the thick, disturbing darkness around her. Her eyes, still used to the computer's bright display, saw absolutely nothing. Was there not supposed to be a lantern somewhere? A little too hectically, she tried to spot a light source but the tiny red LED of her mobile phone.

* * *

The Scarecrow licked its lips in delightful expectation. It had made sure that the nearby lantern was not lit - an easy operation as it just needed to cut a few cables - to create the perfect, appropriate atmosphere.

Every second the woman's nervousness increased, its desire to scare her rose as well. It could smell the fear, even before the woman knew it was there, and leaned forward to be closer. Its whole yet light weight rested on one foot now. Then a twig on which it was standing gave in with a quiet yet hearable crackle. Immediately it froze and let out a noiseless curse.

"W-Who's there?" it hard the female voice cry insecurely.

_Don't move, don't move! The hours of waiting for this opportunity mustn't be wasted!_

It hardly dared to breath and, despite its better knowledge, even its quickened heartbeat seemed treasonously loud now. Only the effect of the toxin was what it wanted to study, being discovered would ruin the experiment!

* * *

"This isn't funny! Show yourself!" she shouted into the darkness, although she rather preferred not to know whether there really was an invisible enemy. She stood upright, the bag with her notebook pressed against her chest, and pushed a button on her mobile phone. The tine display lit up and she turned it away from her body to use it as a flashlight.

She almost jumped up as a pair of big, emerald green eyes reflected the dim shimmer and curiously stared up to her from her feet.

"Oh, hello, little cutie," she said, visibly relieved, and bent over to stroke its soft, brown fur of the cat in a gentle way. She chuckled when the feline purred in return.

"You know, you really startled me." A smile appeared on her face and she sat down again in order to call her husband. She would definitely not go home on her own at this late time of the day, so he could as well move himself off the couch to pick her up, she thought grimly.

* * *

Luckily that cat had passed by, the Scarecrow thought. Nevertheless, it had to hurry and get away before this man, who the woman had called Billy on the phone, arrived. It pulled out a thin wooden tube of the pocket of its burlap trousers which seemed to be a small, self-made blowpipe. It cautiously loaded it with a tiny prepared dart, aimed briefly and fired it by sharply blowing into the slim tube.

* * *

"Ouch!" These damn mosquitoes! With her hand she reached for the skin at her neck where she believed the insect had bitten her. To her surprise, she felt something hard at this place.

A tick perhaps? She probably should not have put her hair in a ponytail.

She pulled it out without hesitation, not knowing that the sudden pressure destroyed the thin sheet that separated two tiny chambers in the dart.

* * *

Both liquids mixed, creating the Essence of Terror, as it liked to call the toxin. It worked again, just as calculated! The sinister straw man could already spot the first symptoms of intoxication at its test subject.

* * *

She felt strange, dizzy, not to say really ill. Her vision blurred and she began to sweat. Additionally, the sudden idea of being watched just would not leave her mind! Did she suffer from paranoia now?

"Oh kitty, what's happening to me?" she sighed weakly, her voice a mere whisper, while her heart beat at increasing speed. Oddly enough, the cat resting on her lap seemed to grow.

It… grinned broadly, familiarly in an absurd way, displaying two shiny rows of sharp saber-teeth.

Was that even possible? The big, emerald eyes stared squarely into hers, knowing, judging, _threatening_.

"I don't know," it purred softly, then with a much louder and more intimidating growl, "Maybe you are going mad. But we are all mad here, aren't we?" Its reboant laughing was a horrible, insane sound.

"Oh my-" She was not able to finish her sentence since the monstrous cat, now as big as a rhinoceros, pounced on her, its jaws wide opened and about to devour her.

She screamed and pushed the monster off of her body, but suddenly a second one appeared out of nothing, and a third one, and a fourth one, and they attacked her all at once.

* * *

Interesting, the Scarecrow thought - apparently, the woman had either had a phobia of cats in her youth, or the feline had reminded her of a past traumatic experience.

The straw man watched her curl up into a ball, slightly rocking back and forth, the hands pressed on her ears. Again she screamed uncontrolledly, though it was a weak sound which changed into a whimper from one moment to another.

The Master of Fear smiled in satisfaction. The experiment had been a success.

Noiselessly it approached her, aware that she would not notice it anyway, and collected the evidence in form of the tiny dart. Its gaze fell upon the notebook on the ground - she had dropped it earlier – or, more precisely, upon the name tag which stuck on its bottom right corner.

"Alice Pleasance" it said, which caused a strong reaction from the other presence in its head. Immediately the straw man read the woman's identity in its alter ego's thoughts, and raised an eyebrow in surprise. This indeed attributed a new meaning to the situation!

Her relation to the Carroll freak might prove quite useful against him, but there was no time to think about it now. Little Alice's screams were already grabbing some attention, so the villain was forced to escape as long as it was still possible.

* * *

It ran, its long legs carrying it quickly across the park, in direction of the docks, were its hideout was located. The way was still far and it had just begun heading there, but nonetheless its steps already lacked precision. When it even stumbled, it only barely managed to catch itself to prevent falling. Eventually, the heavy breathing forced it to stop.

"C'mon, what's wrong with you?" it asked itself aloud, panting. Was it actually a side-effect of its own toxin it had come in contact with so often recently, like the Hat freak had said? No, never! But it might be something else it needed which every sensible person would have seen coming: rest. As much as it hated to admit it, this was a very real possibility. It had not slept for three entire days, which was not exactly what one would call a healthy style of living.

"A lack of sleep weakens your body and your mind, let alone the terrible headache it causes," its alter ego used to say, it remembered. Sleeping - what a waste of time! And it was dangerous as well, considering for how many hours you stayed unconscious. It let out a resigned sigh and looked for a safe place.

The only object around that lived up to its definition of such at the moment was a nearby group of trees slightly off the street. It was big enough to be nicknamed "Little Forest" by the local residents, yet it was ridiculously small enough not to deserve the name.

However, it would do. The Scarecrow chose the highest tree to climb it up to the top much like a monkey and it cautiously lay down on a broad branch, trying to keep its balance. The brown burlap that covered its whole body made it nearly invisible on the moss-grown bark. Here, well protected from curious glances, it pondered the day again.

There was still so much to do, so much to prepare! Besides, spending hours among plants for the second time within a day sounded more like Poison Ivy's thing.

Reluctantly it closed its eyes. The straw man doubted it was going to be a pleasant night, for it already knew who would be expecting it.

* * *

_A/N: This is the first time in my story you get to see the Scarecrow in action (besides attacking Jervis, I mean). Perhaps you noticed that I alternated POVs in increasingly shorter text parts up to the intoxication. I got this idea from a German short story which used a similar method to prepare the climax._

_As always, the illustration link is on my profile page & thanks for reading._


	8. Chapter 8

The giant sewage system of Gotham was an excellent way to get from one place to another as almost everything was connected via its subterranean tunnels. Many of them were in urgent need of repair, though, their structure had become instable with time due to permanent neglect. In addition to this danger, the incredible stench made it unbearable to stay there for longer than two minutes.

Luckily, he had a gas mask, but he preferred the rooftops anyway. Unfortunately, using the underground pathways was sometimes necessary in order to avoid detouring.

Bruce Wayne, tonight as the Batman, pushed the heavy iron sewer cover aside and heaved himself out of the slick hole in the ground. He activated a switch on his armored black glove which removed the white night-vision lenses of his cowl.

Looking up, he spotted a dim, yellowish light shining against the charcoal clouds. The uneven surface blurred the lines, yet its shape was clearly recognizable as a bat - the Bat-Signal. Much larger than the moon, it lit the sky above the city as both a warning to all criminals and a reassurance of safety to the citizens. Besides, it meant that Police Commissioner James Gordon, a good and brave man who had earned his trust and respect long ago, was calling him.

Although everyone knew the sign's purpose, it was an inofficial procedure. The official version was that the GCPD tried its best to seize the mysterious Batman who operated beyond the law, but Gotham needed him too much to do it.

They would meet on top of the police office. The Dark Knight chose the direct way, which went right through - or rather above - Gotham's City Hall. An aimed shot of his grapple gun hit the brick stones of its chimney and its metal claw attached itself to the rough surface, pulling him up within a few seconds.

The building was huge – it consisted of three floors and was roughly circular, leaving the odd impression of a modern Colosseum. The rooftop was crowned with a giant sphere made of glass, an architectural masterpiece that refused to fit in the neighbourhood.

As he passed, Batman spotted an impressively huge main hall which cut through all three floors beneath the transparent surface. The hall was already fully decorated for the city's upcoming 100th anniversary.

The whole city was expected to come, the high society as well as the 'normal' people, famous bands would play their latest songs, there would be a rich buffet and several other presentations and activities he did not even want to know. In short, it was exactly this kind of overcrowded event he hated. Unfortunately, his Bruce Wayne was invited and he would have to attend the festival if he wanted to keep up his image as a rich player.

"Hmpf," he grumbled resignedly, crossed the roof with a few big steps and jumped over the edge, 22 metres of free space beneath his feet, and used his cape to glide down to a roof beyond the street.

How could people party when there were far more important things in need of attention? Gotham suffered, and at the moment he could do nothing but trying to reduce the damage. The progress was slow, but at least he had managed to capture Killer Croc the previous night, even if it had almost cost him his left arm this time.

However, this and the fact that many others of the Joker's kind, including the 'Clown Prince of Crime' himself, were still on the loose did not really interest the media as they rather concentrated on the most obvious and sensation-promising danger: the Scarecrow and/or the Mad Hatter, depending on which newspaper you read, but they were doubtlessly the major suspects.

And Bruce prayed that it stayed this way, because if all villains got the idea to attack Gotham as a united force, there would not be much of it left over afterwards.

Silently he landed on top of the police office next to the brightly lit Bat-Signal, black Kevlar against an equally black sky and thus almost invisible.

A sudden breeze caught his cape, a sound loud enough to let the Commissioner spin round.

"Thank God it's you- I mean, of course it's you," he said, still startled as he had not heard the Batman arrive _again_.

The latter spoke in his regular voice of which he knew that it sounded deep, dark and intimidating to others,

"Hello, Gordon. Any news?"

"Yep, bad news. We found another victim about an hour ago. A girl, or rather a young woman. 26. Alice Pleasance's the name."

"Alice Pleasance…," the Batman repeated thoughtfully. Yes, he remembered the case.

"How is she?"

"I have no clue, to be honest, and neither have the white coats. She went into a coma, like all the others before. 'It's the brain's way to protect itself and the body from further damage caused by the horrific hallucinations' is what the doctors say, but nobody can tell what the patients go through during their helpless condition. You know her?"

"I do, and you might as well. Three years ago. A neuroscientist at Wayne Tetch named Jervis Tetch fell in love with her, but she had already been engaged and didn't reciprocate his feelings. This sent him over the edge and he abused his knowledge of mind control to kidnap her as a weak-willed doll."

A flash of memory appeared in Gordon's eyes. "My God, you mean she is the Mad Hatter's girl?"

"If you want to put it this way, yes, at least in his world. She quit her job at Wayne Tech's directly after the incident."

"Oh boy…" The Commissioner ran a hand through his mouse-grey hair. He looked extraordinarily tired. "So you suppose it was an act of revenge? Scaring others nearly to death is rather Crane's M.O, though."

"I'm not sure yet." Bruce frowned, which was invisible to Gordon under the Batman's cowl. "It is possible that Tetch expanded his repertoire. With his mind control devices he is most likely able to control a person's thoughts, too. Then again, like you said, all victims suffer from extreme fear. I somehow doubt that Crane would accept a copycat of his methods." _Maybe it just happened accidentally? They wouldn't work against each other, would they? _These suggestions led to nothing, therefore he decided to change the topic, "What about the tox screen?"

"No results, unfortunately. There is absolutely nothing in her system but some aspirin. It's no surprise, considering that the others had been negative, too."

"Hmmh" Very strange… He believed in science and that there was always a rational explanation, but in this city he had learned that only very few things were truly impossible.

Nothing made sense at the moment, and although he did not show it to the Commissioner, this really frustrated him.

"Anything we can do to help you 'restock' Arkham?" his opposite interrupted his thoughts, "All my people could do so far was spreading wanted-posters all over the city…"

_As if the citizens didn't see the criminal's faces often enough in their nightmares._

"… and since then," Gordon continued, not noticing the Dark Knight's bitterness, "we've received countless calls concerning alleged clues and sightings, most of them totally useless." He had let himself get carried away by his speech and was now, in an almost desperate way, staring past Batman at the city, which sprawled endlessly in all directions beneath them.

"Nothing, but I'll let you know as soon as I have more information," Bruce responded plainly.

"Okay – uh – but that doesn't mean that you do all the work and just drop a tied-up villain at the front door again, does it? My team starts to complain about their inefficiency," the Commissioner said with slight concern, but his nightly guest had disappeared before he turned to face him again.

* * *

Once again the Batman's dark silhouette stood in the old factory hall, the place where he had lost track on the Scarecrow and the Mad Hatter. He would inspect every inch of it a second time, and a third and a fourth as well, if necessary. There had to be something he had missed!

His fluttering cape threw large shadows on the ground when he entered the small storage room and switched the light on. He saw the straws lying close to the shelves and the finger prints on the dusty bottles which he had already analysed. He knew Crane had improvised on a fear toxin here. The tube he had used still lay on an old cardboard box – the villain must have forgotten it in a hurry.

The sight bitterly reminded him of his confrontation with the two of them. In a way, he blamed himself for the terror that reigned his city now. None of this would have happened if he had stopped them that day.

He clearly remembered the cloud of green gas which had enveloped him within seconds. Of course he had not been so stupid to hunt the Scarecrow without installing an air filter in his cowl before, but the technical device had not worked properly when he had most needed it. Luckily he had managed not to breath in this terrible toxin, yet it had forced him to get out of the building, allowing his enemies to escape.

It was his fault, that he knew for sure, even though his butler and friend Alfred had tried to convince him of the opposite.

However, one of his theories his investigations had led him to was that exactly the same fear toxin, or at least something similar, had been used to poison the presently comatose citizens. The most important task at hand was to find an antidote, which was everything but easy as he needed a sample of the original toxin to develop it. The residues he had found in the empty test tube had unfortunately proven not to be sufficient.

The Dark Knight gritted his teeth - no matter how hopeless the situation seemed, he was going to stop this mayhem. He had to. He would personally put the criminally insane escapees back to Arkham where they belonged, at all cost.

* * *

_A/N: I know it lacks the two main villains, but seriously, I can't write a story set in the Bat-verse without the Dark Knight himself :)_

_Illustration link is on my profile page, and thanks for reading!  
_


	9. Nightmares

Darkness.

...

...

Light.

...

...

Darkness.

...

Light.

...

Black.

...

Yellow.

Black.

Yellow.

Black yellow black yellowblackyellowblack - yellow!

What was that?

It took a while until the Scarecrow realized it stood in the middle of an underground train station and had been staring at a past-zipping train. Nevertheless, something seemed really strange about this place.

Busy people entered and exited the trains, descended or ascended the stairs, fast and anonymously - but one of them had just stepped _right trough_ it! The colours were a little too bright as well, it noticed.

The straw man stiffened as it suddenly felt a hand touching its right shoulder.

"Sad, isn't it? All these people come together at this place, yet none of them is even giving a damn about the others. But they are forced to behave this way, you know, it is their only safety," a soft voice sounded from behind.

Slowly it turned its head and saw... itself? Correct, in a way. The owner of the voice, who was standing much too close to him now, was none other than its alter ego, Dr. Jonathan Crane. He looked as usual with his slim appearance, his short auburn and slightly ruffled hair, the thick glasses, jeans, a white shirt and the greyish-brown professor's tuxedo the ex-university teacher still liked to wear.

Except for two striking differences: the mild blue eyes, which focused it in an intensive way, looked extremely tired, and his skin, even as pale as the Joker's, was coarse and scratched. It was a pitiful sight which was shocking to anyone but the Master of Fear.

The latter felt the urge to check its own clothes – it wore its auburn, red and brown scarecrow suit, of course, and was relieved to find nothing unusual.

Not until now the though crossed its mind that this meeting, physically, was impossible, yet the only sensible words it could think of in its confusion were, "Shouldn't I be asleep?"

"You are," its opposite laughed in amusement, "you are dreaming."

"_Dreaming_..." It repeated the word as if it was a disgusting thing that should not be mentioned in this particular context. The Scarecrow felt silly, and this annoyed it, causing Jonathan to chuckle again.

"No need to be so grumpy," he said kindly and explained, "Look, it's fairly simple: The one of us who has the control over our body while sleeping is the one who dreams, and the other one who controls the unconsciousness - which is currently me, by the way - decides about the dream as well. It's just that you have never physically slept before." His smile faded and his voice became serious. "You never had to since it's the first time you've been in control for such a long time. This is the reason why we need to talk."

"So that's what it's all abou- " The Scarecrow stopped in the middle of its sentence when an elder man walked through its body again. "Can't we at least go to a place where there are less people?" it asked in an upset tone. "This is becoming quite confusing!"

"Sure." Jonathan flicked his fingers once and, like in a scene taken from a fantastic children's novel, the scenario around them changed immediately. Instead of the dirty tiles which formed the train station floor, they now stood on an invisible ground in the air high above the nightly Gotham City.

The straw man gasped with surprise while the auburn-haired man seemed rather unimpressed.

"Alright," it continued its measured reply, "I assure you there's no reason to worry. Everything is perfectly planned, just let me work."

"Oh really? Allow me to sum this up: you keep me prisoner in my own head for days without even telling me the purpose, you have the audacity to destroy my hideout, you risk both of our lives by starting hazardous actions at night with a serious lack of sleep and food, you experiment with dangerous chemicals, ignoring the simplest safety precautions such as preparing an antidote and you. almost. kill. Jervis! And you tell me not to worry?" Jonathan had talked himself in a rage – he had almost been screaming the last sentences.

Meanwhile, a thunderstorm had developed out of nothing and a sudden lightning struck the air very close to the Scarecrow, dramatically underlining Crane's words.

Oddly enough, they had switched roles. The straw man was reminded of the countless times it had been the one who had brought the nightmares while Jonathan, in his dreams, had been helplessly exposed to its mood. Now it was its turn to experience how unpleasant the condition of total dependency on the will of someone else was. But it, being the Master of Fear, the Lord of Despair, would not give in so easily, oh no!

"Listen closely, Johnny-boy," it snapped sharply, "_you_ are the traitor here. How can you expect me to trust you when you've ignored me, once even denied my existence during the past seven months in Arkham?"

Crane gave a bitter laugh. "Excuse me? I just tried not to give the white coats a reason to sedate me for your bad behavior! I for one prefer to avoid lying drooling in my cell like a freakin' squashy vegetable!" He indignantly crossed his arms in front of his chest and shot his alter ego an accusing glance. "Besides, you have no right to kill any of my... friends!"

"What, are you talking about that pathetic little creature with the head full of fairy tales?" the Scarecrow shouted in disbelieve. It had never understood why Jonathan had befriended with the little freak in the first place. Whatever, it had thought of a way to end their relationship by getting rid of the hat guy, anyway.

"He isn't worth my attention. I only wanted to test a little bit of our new toxin on him, a mere insignificance."

"And you actually think that's better. You are aware that a single drop of _your_ toxin is already highly dangerous, you've seen the TV reports. Consequently, you know as well as I do that the dosage you intended to inject Jervis with would have killed him. You can't lie to me, fool."

A lightning struck again, this time even closer than before as it scorched as straw from the Scarecrow's hat, accompanied by growling thunder. The electricity seemed to reflect in the tall man's eyes.

His alter ego hesitated to answer - it disliked the direction this was taking. Carefully it chose its words to change the subject into one which was less of a mine field,

"So what do you have against the fear toxin? It's incurable, unprovable, in short it's what we've always wanted. I don't understand your reaction, it doesn't harm us, so what the hell is your problem?"

"Indeed you don't understand," Crane replied quietly, the anger in his eyes - just briefly - becoming desperation. "Why can't you stop this and be sensible? Scarecrow, why are you doing this to me?" He turned his back on his sinister opposite, unable to bear this power game any longer, and sadly shook his head. He stared at a remote point at the line that marked the horizon without actually noticing it. Neither did he see the straw man's triumphal smirk.

The storm had settled, the Master of Fear had just won.

* * *

"It just isn't true," Jonathan thought in the part of his mind that was hidden from the the Scarecrow's sharp eye, "the toxin does harm to us, even though you might not realize it."

It had indeed changed his other half, given it the power to lock him away in an obscure corner of its mind, had turned it against him. Who could tell what else the unknown chemical would cause in the future?

He was not even sure whether the Scarecrow simply did not want to let him take over again or if it already was not capable of doing so any more. The straw man, however, did not bother to avoid contact with its new creation, increasing Crane's anxiety every time it happened. This had gone so far that Jonathan, by now, was ready to admit that he was truly afraid of his alter ego, a part of himself.

The odd idea of how interesting his case would be for his former psychologists colleagues at Arkham crossed his mind. Ha, they would only declare him insane and paranoid again, these incompetent idiots! He pushed the thought aside.

Most of all, he feared to be an eternal prisoner, doomed to remain a silent spectator of the other's deeds, but he was also seriously worried about Jervis. When it came down to terrifying someone, the Scarecrow's behavior equaled that of a predator: Once it had tasted blood, it would not give up and chase its prey until it would have reached its goal, meaning breaking the Hatter's will or worse.

Jonathan was not at all sure whether he would be able to interfere and stop the straw man in time again.

He noticed that his alter ego was still watching him, one arm akimbo, standing there on the transparent ground. He frowned and the features around his eyes were darkened with sarcasm when he grasped the irony of the situation, the ridiculousness of this whole fake dream world itself. His vision did not blur as it normally should when he took off his glasses, but instead the scratches on his skin bore an absurd amount of meaning: they stood for the coarse burlap fabric of the costume the Scarecrow had not taken off for days as well as for his own weak condition, he mused, and did not know whether to laugh or scream.

Perhaps he had really gone mad, after all?

He rose his gaze and met the straw man's mocking one. They were supposed to be a team, to protect each other as it had always been, but now he knew it was merely waiting for the moment of awakening, meaning Jon would not be able to trap it in this world of phantasms any longer. Quickly the doctor tore his eyes away in order to hide his growing uneasiness.

Without interference from outside he was lost, and this certainty was choking him. If the terrible toxin was actually undetectable... he did not dare to finish his thought.

Instead, he discovered with horror that his body had become transparent, ans his environment was rapidly fading as well.

At the same time his alter ego's features brightened, as far as it was possible behind the mask.

"I don't care about what you say! There is nothing you can do about it, anyway, you hear me? Nothing!" it shouted, its voice echoing towards the end of its speech, while they were being surrounded by glaringly white light, which was steadily increasing its intensity.

It reached its maximum and devoured both of them, accompanied by the cacophonous, evil laughing of the Master of Fear.

* * *

Blinded by the bright sunlight, which shone directly in its face, the Scarecrow almost fell off its branch when it woke up. It barely remembered the weird dream it had had - most of the memory was safely buried in a remote corner of its brain, and the rest was easily swept away like an irritatingly buzzing fly.

Why, however, did it somehow still have the picture of a hurt puppy licking its wounds in its head! Whatever.

According to the position of the sun, it was already late noon. Darn, it had not wanted to sleep so long!

How was it supposed to go back to its hideout in bright daylight? Maybe, if it just ran fast enough... Ha, as if a walking scarecrow attracted less attention, it thought ironically. Of course it would have been much easier to doff the suit and mask and go in the ordinary yet thin clothes it wore underneath, but that was definitely an option the straw man would not even consider.

Well, it had to find a way since it could not poison everyone it met, after all, could it? An evil grin spread across its face when it prepared the toxic spray.

* * *

_A/N: For the first time in this story you get to see Jonathan's POV after his 'disappearance', a scene which might be a little melodramatical ^^' Anyways, the whole story is planned now, and you might be interested in the fact that it's going to have 15 chapters altogether. The countdown begins XD_

_The illustration link is on my profile page. Thanks for reading.  
_


	10. Shattered Pieces

"For the fourth time now, Batman: I. DON'T. KNOW. WHERE. CRANE. IS."

"For the _last _time now, Nigma: I. don't. believe. you!"

"Oh, now you're giving an ultimatum? Does it mean that you are out of options?" The Riddler grinned impudently.

Bruce, dressed as his alter ego Batman as usual during his 'night shift', had stopped Edward Nigma, more popularly known as the Riddler, in a bank robbery. Like many of the small-time criminals, the villain had wanted to use the chaos in Gotham to his advantage - with little success, though, since all of his henchmen had run away when the Batman had appeared.

The latter tightened his grip at Edward's collar and pulled him closer to his face.

"Do you think this is a joke? The hospitals are already hopelessly overcharged and can't handle any more emergencies caused by the Scarecrow," he growled. "'Knowledge is power', isn't that what you used to praise? You'd be stupid not to possess such sensitive information as the whereabouts of your _friends and foes_."

The Riddler, however, stayed unimpressed. He even looked a bit insulted instead, but it was difficult to say due to the purple domino mask which covered his eyes.

"Of course I am _not_ stupid, as you should know best by now," he snapped, audibly piqued at this remark, "which is exactly why I definitely wouldn't share such information with someone like _you_. My 'friends and foes', as you called them, would not be very pleased, you know. Besides, what do I care? You ought to give me reason first."

"How about this: If you keep refusing to help me, I'll be even less pleased." Batman raised a fist.

As a person who cared about his health and generally avoided physical confrontations, Nigma quickly changed his mind. Bruce grinned on the inside - this threat always worked.

"Okay, that is indeed a rather acceptable reason - but I am going to tell you the following only because it means that you needed a hint to solve this riddle, ha!" The Riddler paused for a moment to memorize the situation as a personal victory, and Batman let him do so.

"So listen: Crane's hideout used to be close to the university he formerly lectured at, but you won't find him there since he moved it to an unknown place a while ago."

"That is not helpful!"

"I'm not finished yet, you impatient Bat-Rat! - However, someone told me that the Mad Hatter just found a lovely little house in the far South of Gotham. The street is – ironically enough – called 'Carroll Avenue', but you didn't hear this from me."

"Thank you," the Batman said plainly and took out a pair of handcuffs, using them to chain the aghast rogue to the entrance door of the bank building. He would later send a note to Gordon where he could find his 'tied-up villain' this time.

"Hey, wait!" the latter shouted in bewilderment, "You can' leave me here like this! I have a reputation to lose, that's embarrassing! Wait! WAIT!"

* * *

Jervis tossed and turned in his bed, stared at the messily painted Cheshire Cat which grinned down at him from the ceiling, counted the single teeth, stared at his book shelf, counted his 176 versions of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and its sequel, counted them a second time when he discovered that one was missing, sat up to look for it and lay down when he spotted it on his desk, tossed and turned again.

He dared a glimpse at his digital caterpillar alarm clock and immediately regretted it. Another sleepless hour and he could as well get up and do something useful. _Okay_, Jervis thought. If he did not fall asleep within the next 15 minutes, he would definitely hypnotize himself with the mind control chip which was hidden in his hat.

It already lay next to him - there had not been enough space for a second bed, but at least it had got a blanket of its own and it had not complained yet - and hypnotizing had always been a reliable method. The only disadvantage was that he never knew when he would wake up again (25 hours of unconsciousness were his record).

_Bad idea._ Resigning himself to his fate, he crossed his arms behind his head. _Oh well_, he did not really feel like sleeping, anyway. Of course not, how could any person relax in an orange Arkham overall? It felt like plastic, yet it was scratchy in an odd way, but it had been the closest thing to pajamas he had been able to find in a hurry. He did not want to ruin his green hatter suit, after all.

Jervis's gaze roamed in the room. Once again he noticed the broad range of different colours which formed weird patterns on the carpet, the door, the lamps and even his desk (he had painted it himself like many other objects in his home, which was something he was quite proud of). Everything was perfect the way it was and he still was convinced that the forest-green chair, the orange book shelf and the dark blue door frame were a brilliant match for the mostly lime green walls.

Not until Jonathan had alleged that such a sense of colours was not normal, he had realized that it looked indeed a little colourful. "Don't you think this increases your risk of eye diseases dramatically?" his friend had asked, seriously! But he had just laughed as a response.

_Oh no, wrong way of thinking, wrong way of thinking!_

He did not want to be reminded of the terrible events of the past day, but it was too late. His worry about Jonathan was aroused anew. What on earth had happened that had given the Scarecrow so much control that it could use never giving it back as a threat? What if the straw-head had been serious? Jonathan was he only person he could remotely call a friend, the only one he had ever had. What if...

By chance his gaze fell upon the window and what he saw made him jump to his feet in alarm. "Not you, not here, not now!" he cried desperately.

Behind the window pane he was, the Jabberwock in person.

* * *

The Hatter had seen him earlier than he had planned, but the element of surprise struck nevertheless. Bruce entered the room through the window - the lock was easy to pick - and carefully eyed his odd, new environment, looking for a movement. It was not that what he assumed to be a bedroom was extraordinarily big, but if a person wore clothes of a pattern equal to those found on every object, they would merge with the room like a charmeleon and practically be invisible.

He switched to his night lenses in order to at least block the colours out, which were still confusingly bright despite the nightly twilight. When nothing happened after a few moments, Batman made his way to the door.

He opened it just in time to catch a glimpse at a piece of fabric that disappeared down the stairs. He refused the urge to take a closer look at the 'unusual' furniture - to say the least - and immediately ran after it, followed by his fluttering black cape.

It was supposed to be the basement, but what lay beyond the heavy door at the end of staircase was a hall of mirrors.

The walls, the floor, the ceiling, even the door which shut and locked itself as soon as Batman had entered - everything was covered with them. The result was devastating:

All the Caped Crusader saw were endless reflections of himself. Seized with a sudden dizziness, his hand felt for a wall for support. He angrily clenched his teeth – he could _not_ show such weakness while facing a madman!

His attention was focused again when the Mad Hatter (now in full costume and, oddly enough, with a steaming cup of tea in his hand) appeared at the other side of what looked like a corridor. Immediately Bruce took this chance and fired a batarang in the direction of his enemy, but the sharp metal only hit the surface of another mirror. Yet the impact had been hard enough to cause a crack.

The Hatter laughed briefly and humourlessly at this futile attempt. "Don't bother trying," he said, "if you are not familiar with the maze-like structure of my Looking Glass Hall, you won't have a chance to find me."

He was probably right, as much as Batman hated to admit it.

"How dare you coming here to my private house! I did not even do anything wrong this time!" Tetch's voice growled. The image of his small silhouette, distorted by the damaged surface of the mirror, was shaking slightly.

"You bought it with stolen money, Tetch," the Dark Knight answered. Madness reflected in the shorter man's eyes, underlined by the fact that he blinked a little too rarely, yet he showed signs of exhaustion as well, so Batman saw a chance of preventing escalation. He decided to try a soft treatment. "Don't you think that's wrong?" he asked calmly and put all his energy into standing upright despite the fact that the walls still seemed to spin.

When the Hatter hesitated to reply, he knew it had worked.

"Perhaps," Tetch muttered finally, "but what do I care? I did not hurt anybody, the millionaire I took it from won't even miss it."

Bruce paused for a moment - was this possible the place where a considerable amount of his fortune had gone to recently? He would have to check that, but for now he abandoned the thought in order not to be suspicious.

"Do you mean you are not responsible for-"

"I have nothing to do with it!" the Hatter interrupted him harshly, "Why should I use the Scarecrow's devices and not my own?" His gloved finger tapped the white label card attached to his hat to emphasize his point.

Batman dug deeper, "But Crane surely could not have done it on his own, that's impossible."

"Oh, he could, believe me. As to how, I have no clue..." Tetch's bitter voice had become quieter at the end of his sentence. He remained silent afterwards, lost in thoughts and his gaze unfocused.

Ha, so he had actually struck a nerve! Again Bruce tried his luck and dared to push Tetch further, "I see, it seems as if he has lost control." Little did the Caped Crusader know how right was, in a literal way. "I could help him, but in order to do so I need some information."

Slowly the Mad Hatter's light blue eyes rose until they locked on Batman's face. Bruce could have sworn that the madman really considered the offer, but this strange, brief moment of tranquility passed all too soon when his mood suddenly changed.

"Oh really, do you? Ha, give me just one sensible reason why I should help _you_, Bat-on-two-legs, and betray Jonathan," the Hatter snarled. His upper lip was twitching, which proved that he was rather angry now, even though he hid it well.

For the second time that day Batman was demanded a reason, but now the case was aggravated by the fact that he did not have the upper hand. With his opponent out of range, he saw only one possible solution to save the situation. Without further consideration he said,

"You want me to give you a reason, so here it is: The latest victim of the Scarecrow's gas is Alice."

Since the smaller man did not reply and kept staring at him with an unreadable expression, he added, "Listen, only very few died of the poison yet, but their general condition is critical. We can still develop an antidote when we get a sufficient amount of the pure toxin, but for this we have to find Crane and we are running out of time. So I am asking you now: Do you want to save her, or do you want to let her die?"

Batman could not see Tetch's reaction clearly as he held his head in an angle which made the brim of his hat shadow the area around his eyes. Had he gone too far? He could not tell.

Eventually, the Hatter pointed at a mirror to his right which slid aside to reveal a tunnel.

"Get out," was all he said.

"You remember her, don't you?"

"I. said. GET. OUT!"

It was probably some hidden speaker which made the blonde's voice sound so unbearably loud that the ground seemed to quake.

Just in time Bruce realized that it was actually the room which was shaking. A slim, long gap had opened on his right and he noticed several similar ones spread all over the walls. Without any further warning, large, crescent-shaped blades simultaneously swung out of them like huge pendulums and Batman turned a somersault out of the way of the one next to him.

Despite his quick reaction, it easily cut through his cape as if through air, which was a little too close to his body for his taste.

He was forced to dodge again when another lethal piece of metal approached him. Even though the sensation of giddiness was only slowly fading, it was not that he was too rigid to avoid them but rather the fact that they were entirely mirrored which made him difficulties.

Since even the holders of the blades were painted with some kind of specular liquid, they were nearly invisible in this hall of mirrors.

Batman briefly glanced at the Mad Hatter, whose outstretched arm pitilessly kept pointing at the small exit. Bruce growled something which sounded much like a curse. He did not want to let Tetch go, now that he had just found him, but he was left no choice.

He managed to escape through the obscure tunnel which would – as he was about to discover – lead him far away from the Hatter's mad Wonderland to a spot deep inside the sewers underneath the city of Gotham.

* * *

Jervis, however, only slowly lowered his guard and finally his arm. He had not noticed that his hand had clenched to a fist, but when he opened it, the clanging sound of shattered porcelain hitting the floor told him that he had crushed the tea cup he had been holding. Blood dripped from his cut palm, but he barely paid attention to the red liquid as if it did not belong to him.

Although he liked being called 'the Mad Hatter', Jervis Tetch did not see himself as mad, or at least this was usually the case. There were, however, moments during which he felt he could not handle a situation any more, during which he sank into the personal Wonderland in his head. It was no conscious action, but it had proven to be an efficient way of protection before.

He had always been a quirky individual with rather questionable moralities. Yet it had always been during these _moments_ that he had done those horrible deeds which had caused him to become the insane Hatter, someone who was infamous in town and actually lived up to people's expectations of a member of Gotham's so-called 'Rogues Gallery'.

But what made him a hopeless case in the expert's eyes was the fact that he, worst of all, never seemed to notice this change of his own personality.

A smile spread on Jervis's face. Yet it could rather be described as an artificial, horrible grin of vast dimensions which was taped across the skin between the ears. It was a freakish, nightmarish expression, intensified by the set of unusually large teeth displayed.

"No time to debate, I'm late," he snickered, "and once again it's just the Jabberwock and me, the Jabberwock and me and perhaps another one who deserves the treatment of the Queen of Hearts..."

* * *

_A/N: Jervis is back in this chapter, and there is even a Riddler cameo. Eddy is one of my favourite villains, even if it does not seem so, considering the situation I put him in XD Please note that the story is now rated T, mainly because of the next chapter._

_The illustration link will be on my profile page soon - thanks for reading!_


	11. The way things go

Gotham's main (and surprisingly only) hospital was old St. Claire's, or at least this was what the bold red letters above the entrance said. The local citizens simply used to call it ' the clinic'.

It was well equipped and had an excellent reputation, not least because one of the wealthiest men of the city, who also happened to be the owner of the powerful Wayne Enterprises company, had been financially supporting it for years now.

Presently there was a chaotic bustle in front of its large double door, which restlessly swung open and closed again while medics passed and carried the numerous patients indoors.

The never-ending questions of the reporters, who lurked about and waited for the personnel of the hospital like vultures for their dying prey, and the strident siren's wailing of the ambulances, which was only interrupted by a scream of a traumatized fear-patient from time to time, created an unbearable noise, which put everyone's nerves on an acid test.

As if this had not been enough, people had to be treated in the corridors or waiting rooms now due to a serious lack of space, let alone the fact that the staff was hopelessly overcharged.

It truly was a chaos the Joker would have been proud of being the cause for and it seemed to be the center of public attention, expect for the fact that it was not. Actually, the space in the news reserved for the Scarecrow's latest strike on the city had become notably smaller recently, much in contrast to the space reserved for Gotham's 100th anniversary party tomorrow evening or the newest autumn fashion created by a local designer.

It was not unusual in this city that at least one member of its 'Rogues Gallery' was on the loose, and people (expect for friends and family of a hapless victim, of course) could definitely care less about it. The omnipresent danger had become a normal factor in their daily lives and one either got used to it or moved away.

According to a current poll, most felt pretty safe due to the looming presence of their notorious hero, the Batman. Funnily enough, even the small-time criminals agreed to this as he protected them from the really dangerous men at night.

At night.

But now, at about four o'clock in the afternoon, no one was there to recognize the stranger among the hospital staff, a fair-haired civilian who stepped through the open doors untroubledly. Perhaps his freakish grin, which was slightly out of place, should have been a warning to anyone, as well as the ominous Cheshire Cat printed on the front of the bag he wore on top of an old-fashioned, green coat, covering his short figure from the neck down to his knees.

"_Cheshire Puss, […] would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here_ to find my dearest Ms. Alice Pleasance? I daresay it would be best for all of us," he said to the receptionist in a contradictory mix of charmingly and threateningly.

The middle-aged, grumpy woman, who was obviously past her prime, merely raised an eyebrow on the nonsense-talking weirdo before she decided to ignore him as a curiosity of the day not worth wasting her time with. She was, however, not as despising any more when the stranger, his features visibly darker now, pulled a gun out and fired off several times into the ceiling.

This finally caused a reaction from the people around, and things began to happen very fast.

The entrance lady looked at him with shocked, dilated eyes.

Two medical assistants, who were just carrying a weakly moaning patient on a stretcher inside, turned around in one fluent movement and exited at once, lucky to be unnoticed.

The civilians froze, as well as most of the hospital staff. Only a few either ran away in panic or hid in laundry bins, behind furniture or taller persons.

A nurse standing nearby fainted, but no one was there to catch her.

Shouting and crying filled the sweaty air when the intruder demanded being led to 'his Alice' and kept babbling that _it [had]n't [been] very civil of [them not] to offer it_.

Soon the security chief arrived together with his assistant, and they were bellowing orders and aiming their guns at the smaller man, who immediately shot both of them without even looking. Red spots splashed on the floor, on the wall and on a the dress of a young mother, whose little boy, as a result, began to cry - but he was quickly silenced by the madman's dead gaze.

Once again the Mad Hatter repeated his request, this time pointing his weapon directly at the head of a doctor who had been trying to crawl to the wounded security officers.

Then an intelligent young trainee, who had been brave enough not to lose his nerve in all the chaos and to look for an 'Alice' in the patient data files, finally followed the instructions of the blonde-haired man with the icy blue eyes and the deadly gun.

When they left through the corridor leading deeper inside the building, the reception lady, eventually able to think clearly, called the police.

* * *

"It- it was frightening, officer."

"Okay, I can understand your situation. But first it is important that you calm down."

"No, you- you don't understand! It was- he is- he is _crazy_! I thought I would help them by taking him away, but he- he shot _two more people _and forced me to go ahead!" The shaken, young man buried his face in his hands.

Commissioner Gordon put a hand on the poor lad's shoulder.

"Tell me- I must know whether-" he said between heavy sobs, "are they all right?"

Gordon hesitated, the wrinkles around his eyes giving away his uneasiness. "We-" he paused. "We are not sure if all of them will make it."

"Oh God!" The trainee's voice broke and again his body was shaken by a wave of grief, horror and guilt.

The Commissioner stepped back, leaving the young man to the police psychologist who had just arrived. Earnestly he approached detective Stevenson, who was crouching to examine a trace of blood on the ground.

"May I interrupt you for a second, Detective?"

"Sure." Stevenson stood up to face his superior.

"What have you been able to find out here?"

"It's a really unusual crime, Commissioner. Look at this, for example." He pointed at the blood to his feet which formed a red, unsteady line along the corridor until it went out of sight around a corner.

"Here Tetch shot his fourth victim, but the bullet merely injured non-essential tissue. The man ran after him at first, and over there they had a fight."

Gordon grimaced - it was one of these days at which he asked himself why he was doing all this for this rotten city, and at the same time whether he had become sentimental in his old age. Reluctantly he forced his gaze at a place with especially many crimson splatters on the floor – most of them had been smeared with soles of shoes – and beyond this spot red foot prints accompanied the bloody trace for a few metres. His opposite put his thoughts into words.

"Then it seems as if the doctor ceased his resistance all of a sudden and simply followed them. We suppose that Tetch used one of the mind control cards he's known for. I just wonder why he did this." He pulled the latex gloves off his hands.

"The security cameras show that he needed someone to carry the woman outside." The Commissioner looked thoughtful.

"Oh, of course, that makes sense. Sorry, it's been a hard first week for me." Awkwardly, Stevenson rubbed his eyebrow with the back of his palm, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Never mind, it's been hard for all of us. You do a good job," Gordon said, feeling that his opposite had needed these words of acknowledgement. Stevenson had just joined the GCPD, and he came from a small town where the worst criminal activity had been a burglary two years ago.

The Detective finished collecting blood samples in silence while Gordon remained lost in thought, pulling at his mustache.

* * *

Elsewhere in a dubious suburb of Gotham, in bright daylight, a fancy red vintage car halted next to two mud-green, dirty waste containers. A muffled shoot tore the cloak of oppressive silence, which spread out across the neighbourhood, apart. The driver's door was opened from inside. The driver, clad all in white, was shoved out and the door was slammed shut. While the white clothes turned into a colour that matched the car's, the latter hurtled off, swerving about and with screeching tires.

And those who had observed pretended to be blind, those who had heard pretended to be deaf. Because that was the way things went around there.

* * *

A/N: I was struggling to write this as I didn't know how violent I wanted it to be. It was the first time of writing something involving blood, but there is really nothing too explicit, I'd say. Anyway, Jervis seems to be a little mad :)

The illustration link is on my profile page. The quotations are from Alice in Wonderland. Thanks for reading!


	12. Sacrifices

This evening the great Gotham City Hall was not entirely deserted. A single, bulky figure moved in the shadows, awkward and determined to stay clear of the big windows. The street lights and bright advertisings illuminated everything in a yellowish-blue glow, which was enough for him to see, but he had also thought of bringing a flash lamp, just in case.

His name was Ian Jenkins, but that did not matter any more. Now everyone just called him 'Bones', a circumstance he owed to a rumour someone had spread. It was not true, but he welcomed the intimidating reputation that was its side effect.

He grabbed his cordless screwdriver and carefully removed the screws which kept the cover of the ventilation shaft in place.

It had not always been like this. There had been a time - one he could barely remember - at which he had had a beautiful wife, a lovely daughter, a well-paid job and... _hair_. Then Fortuna had decided that he was not worth it and had given up on him. As a result, he now was accepting one illegal order after another, and did the dirtiest work imaginable while being clad all in black, completely with leather gloves and some sort of ski mask pulled over his shaved head.

At least his current task was not that dirty, he thought when lifting the heavy, close-meshed grille, and was immediately proven wrong by a massive white cloud of dust, which emerged from behind it. Bones repressed a cough and, waving his hands about to get rid of it, he discovered another unpleasant surprise as he eyed the metal pit: He was ordered to place the last _object_ around a corner approximately seven metres inside the shaft, but with his broad shoulders he would not be able to crawl through the hole in the wall.

He growled a curse - this was something he had not expected, and he was already late. He had been supposed to finish preparing everything for the Big Day half a week ago, but he had been hindered by a little _difference in opinions_ between himself and his previous employer.

The hideous cut that went across his left eye all the way down to his chin still smarted like hell.

However, he had to find a way to accomplish his task now, because according to what he had heard about the one he worked for, it was a really, _really_ bad idea to disappoint him.

It took Jenkins a full hour to construct something out of party décor and pieces of wood (he had shattered a chair to get these, and hopefully no one would miss it) that was long enough to slide the _object _to its place.

On occasion he pulled the ski mask off of his head, wept the sweat off his brow with the back of his broad hand and flung the remains of his construction into his backpack. Then he clumsily hurried down the stairs which led to the ground floor. One last time he glanced past the two rows of dimly shimmering handrails which marked the stories. Up there the stars twinkled as tiny, bright dots behind the massive sphere of glass, and once again he was astonished by the incredibly impressive height.

Lowering his gaze, his eyes met burlap.

Though terribly startled inside, the only reaction surfacing and implying his feelings was some sort of a gasp. Bones managed to stay calm while looking into the two black voids in the freaky mask, and from deep inside intelligent eyes flashed and returned his gaze with an odd curiosity.

Since his employer remained uncomfortably close for several minutes, Jenkins decided to break the silence, simultaneously taking a few steps back to an adequate distance,

"I hid the _objects _all over the building, just as you ordered." He hoped it had not sounded like too much of an invitation for a conversation as he preferred to reduce talking to the lunatics to a minimum.

"You did."

Now, if that had not been a short answer - should it really be so easy? Then again, it had been too short not to be questioned.

"I didn't expect you to visit tonight," he said for a neutral start.

"Ian. How, do you believe, did I come here?" the Scarecrow asked in a soft voice.

_Ian_. He had done it again. None of his former employers had ever called him by his first name, and the fact that this one insisted on doing it, knew his name in the first place, was highly unsettling.

"I came through the ventilation shaft you left open so carelessly, Ian."

"Oh." Bones had actually forgotten to close the last one after doing his work. How could the Scarecrow know, how long had he already been observing him? His mind refused to imagine his scrawny employer crawling through the narrow tunnels.

"But don't worry, Ian, I took care of it for you. Why don't you have a seat with me on the stairs and have some cake? You had such a stressful week, you deserve it," the villain continued in a light-hearted tone, which was suspicious enough. But when the equally tall man actually sat down and pulled two plates, forks and pieces of cake out of nowhere, it was even scarier than anything Bones might have expected.

"Come on," the Scarecrow insisted and patted the wooden surface of the stair next to him, "I bet you'll like it. It's chocolate cake, my favourite."

Slowly Jenkins accepted the plate while his employer already began to eat, skillfully navigating the food through the stitches of the mask's mouth as if it was a well-known procedure that had become automatized with time.

Bones put a piece of it in his mouth, too - he did not have a choice, anyway. It indeed tasted really good, he could barely remember the last time he had eaten something that sweet. And yet, he was not able to relax, could not ignore the obscure eyes which were still laid upon him.

A vicious thought suddenly formed in his head: The Scarecrow knew that he had failed to begin his work in time, that he had hurried to get everything done tonight, thus endangering his employer's plans. Yes, that had to be it, and certainly his opposite was really angry!

He choked on his cake.

"You stopped eating, Ian. Is anything wrong?" Concern seemed to resonate with the question, but Jenkins knew it was fake.

"No, everything's fine," he replied simply, although he felt a tingling sensation on his tongue. Could it be that... or was it just a result of his paranoia?

"It's okay, you can speak freely. I assure you that I won't mind. And don't tell me it's nothing, I saw the quick dilation of your pupils."

"Oh, I-," he began, unsure what to say, "I was just wondering..."

"...whether I put anything in that cake?" the Scarecrow continued his sentence in a helpful manner, hitting the nail on the head.

The bald man's caught expression was self-explanatory.

"Why, it's normal chocolate cake, and a very good one, I must say. My special ingredient in yours is merely a sedative, it won't kill you."

_Sedative!_ Bones dropped the plate at once, again heavily choking at the cake in his mouth while the villain contentedly munched his, ignoring the noise of shattering ceramics.

Just casually, the Scarecrow added, "The chemical components spread by the _objects_ combined with the ones at your fork, however, will."

* * *

The henchman died noiselessly – he just fell over due to the previous sedation.

A few minutes later, the Scarecrow had dragged the body to an unused broom closet in the basement – it was an exhausting labour, even for the straw man – and threw it into the narrow chamber. "Let that be a lesson to you never to neglect my orders again, you pathetic idiot!" it snarled despisingly while slamming the door shut.

"Now, now, Crane, I bet you wouldn't want to wake the neighbours."

It did not need to look in order to recognize the deep voice coming from behind, and it turned around with irritation.

"I see you made a pretty good recovery from our last confrontation, Bat," it said not without sarcasm. _Did he see the dead henchman?_ _Rather not_, it decided, for he would certainly have interfered in this case.

"This time your gimmicks won't help you." Bruce's lips formed an allusion to a grin when he tapped his finger on the transparent gas mask which, being integrated in his cowl, covered the lower half of his face.

"Oh really? Very well, I dare you to give it a try."

With this, the Scarecrow started to run, darting past the Dark Knight, who flung his cape to confuse his opponent. Yet the crouched posture he adopted for a split-second to do so soon proved to be a mistake: The villain, unimpressed by this maneuver, took the chance to jump, placing a foot on Batman's broad shoulder, and pushed itself up and beyond the dark figure, thus landing behind its enemy.

In almost no time the straw man made it up the stairs and headed for the back door. Unfortunately, it found it locked when trying the door handle. _NO! _Quickly calculating its chances of kicking in the solid material, the Scarecrow feverishly tried to think of an alternate escape method.

_I bet now you would be glad to have one of Jervis's sewing needles, huh?, _Jonathan bitterly remarked in its head, interrupting any creative thought.

"SHUT THE HELL UP!" it yelled, and the violent force of fury suppressed the weak presence with such strength that it gave the Scarecrow a terribly headache. A pulse began to beat in its left temple, unnervingly synchronous to the yet distant staccato of heavy boots hitting the floor.

The Bat had just come in sight at the stairs across the hall. Short-handed, the villain picked one of its more traditional devices – a fear gas bomb – and threw it in direction of the approaching figure.

* * *

The small, pumpkin-shaped object was well-known to the Dark Knight Detective, so he was not surprised when it detonated shortly after. Thanks to his gas mask the greenish cloud would not affect him, but the old-fashioned device was made to serve a different purpose which gave Batman cause for far greater concern: the thick, non-transparent fog soon gained volume and cloaked the escaping villain, thus hiding the Scarecrow's every movement from his eyes.

Determined not to lose, he ignored his limited vision and continued to run blindly right through the nebula.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Scarecrow's gaze had focused on a small window, not much wider than a head, next to the blocked exit. Someone had left it unlocked, probably because it was considered to be too small for any unwelcome intruders. For the villain, however, it was wide enough, even though just barely. With its double-jointed limbs, it was easy to dislocate its hips and shoulders almost painlessly.

First, it pushed the hat through the opening. Then it pulled itself up and thrust its upper body through the narrow window inch by inch. It would have preferred to avoid this laborious task as it would likely consume more time than it had. Luckily, the building's back door faced a presently dark and deserted alley. At least the Scarecrow would not have to worry about unwanted spectators.

It had just managed to hitch a little more than its torso through the opening. Quickly it relocated its shoulders to pull itself fully out when it felt a vehement tug at its left ankle.

"Oh no, you won't get away now," Batman's deep voice growled from behind. The grip at the scrawny leg tightened and the force of the pull increased at once. A hiss of pain escaped the villain's mouth – the crazy Bat seemed to be serious about ripping its leg out!

Violently the Scarecrow kicked the air with its free leg, its contorted body squirming to the farthest extent possible without breaking its bones. By chance it succeeded in hitting something hard with its shoe. In the straw man's imagination it had been the Bat's stupid face - but whatever it had been, the grip, most importantly, loosened.

Every muscle tensed, the Scarecrow snapped this chance to break free.

Once again Batman tried to catch hold of his prey, yet all he got in his hands was a piece of fabric which easily tore off of the costume.

With a thud the villain hit the concreted pavement. Each part of its body felt either sore or slightly numb, but the loss of weight at its belt of rope was something it did not fail noticing.

The resurrecting noise of vigorous footsteps followed by a concussing blast coming from the door told it that his enemy was about to make his way right through the solid wood – something it wished it had been able to! Urged to a quick decision, it fetched its hat and ran.

"It is too late, Bat!" sounded the villain's distant voice from the other side of the wall, "Tomorrow the victory will be mine!"

"Crane!" Batman yelled in return, prolonging the name with ire. When the back door finally gave in with a great noise mere seconds later, the fearsome straw man already was long gone.

Breathing heavily, Bruce stood on the burst pieces of the frame, his fists still raised to his chest and ready to fight. Minutes passed before he remembered the piece of fabric from the Scarecrow's costume which he firmly clenched between his fingers. Taking a closer look, he noticed that it was in fact no random scrap but rather a little bag. It was pulled shut by two strings of thick yarn. He opened it and let its contents fall into his broad palm.

The bag bore nothing but five tiny vials, most of them empty. One, however, was filled with a transparent liquid. The fragile phial was even labelled with a fringed piece of paper. It showed a number and a hazard symbol, both hastily scribbled on the surface with some sort of dark green marker. What a ridiculous precaution, considering the fact that he was dealing with one of the Scarecrow's self-brewed chemical cocktails!

Anyway, at least it was something for a start.

Bruce stored his findings in a special pocket at his utility belt before he readied his grapple gun.

With a surprisingly quiet clank the metal claw flew towards the sky in a rocket-like manner. It attached itself to a point beyond his view on top of the skyscraper, pulling his cloaked figure up to the gloomy clouds. The ominous Bat-Signal was the only thing to light their bulky texture.

"Tomorrow..." At last, realization struck him. "Alfred, get up! Meet me in the Cave in five minutes!"

* * *

_A/N: I apologize for the long time you had to wait. I will continue this story, no matter how long it takes!  
As always, you will find the illustration on my profile page soon. Thank you for reading, and let me know what you think ;)_


	13. Never Mind the Consequences

"_... provided no further information. In an earlier interview Police Detective Samuel Steveson stated that the shattered door hints at no obvious danger. Despite these incidents, Commissioner Gordon from the GCPD reassured that the festivities of Gotham's 100th anniversary will take place this afternoon just as planned. 'We strongly believe it was suicide' he says. The body found in the basement has yet to be identified. However, an increased number of security staff will–_"

An armored, black glove pressed a button on the remote control which set the portable TV mute.  
"This is a big mistake! Don't you see that this is exactly what Crane wants?"

"Yes, I know. But please, do we have to discuss this in the news van? People are listening." Gordon grew more nervous with every passing second. Outside his people could barely cordon off the crowd of onlookers and journalists.

The Caped Crusader showing himself at bright daylight was already bad enough. But making his way straight through the mob was so utterly untypical of him that even a complete idiot could figure out that something was going on.

Presently, said man of mysteries looked strangely bewildered.  
"This party will end in a disaster, Gordon. That's a promise," Batman predicted sinisterly, underlined his words by spreading his arms.

He had never seen him that urging before, the Commissioner realized.  
"Look, I know what you mean. Considering who you are and what you've done for this city, I do believe you," he whispered and cast a nervous look about himself to make sure their conversation was not overheard by anyone.  
Geez, those dead serious eyes were distracting!  
"It's the mayor, he–" Gordon started a murmured excuse, which the Dark Knight bluntly interrupted.

"The only thing Mayor Irwing cares about is money."

"Yes, that's what I was going to say! He doesn't want to bear the financial loss going along with cancelling this event. Do you know what a horrendous sum of dollars he's put into this?"

"This is about the life of innocent citizens!" Batman growled sharply. "We both know how far the Scarecrow can go!"

"But the mayor obviously doesn't!" Gordon replied testily and ran a hand through his grey shock of hair. Why did this guy always make him feel like a cornered animal of prey? Otherwise this was something only his wife was able – and allowed – to do.  
"He's not from Gotham, and he's just been elected to the office," He continued more calmly, "but I bet you already screened him, so I'm not telling you anything new."

"What about the particles in the air inside the building? In which way are they not an obvious danger?"

"How come you–" the Commissioner quickly changed his mind. He had stopped wondering about the Dark Knight's sources of information a long time ago. Instead, he simply answered to his question, "I assume you're meaning the slight abnormality in the air condition. Why, we analysed the stuff from those hidden boxes carefully. Nothing hazardous, they have no effect on the human system." In fact, his common sense told him the contrary. "We don't seem to be able to filter the particles from the air, though. They're unusually small."  
He felt anything but good declaring the building safe for thousands of people, but without any acute danger at hand he was left no choice.

Then, a tiny LED began to flash up at Batman's utility belt. Gordon watched him press a small button on the device. Simultaneously, he raised a gloved hand to his cowl of Kevlar, placing three fingers on specific positions close to his ear.

* * *

"Alfred," Bruce ascertained in a matter-of-fact way, turning away from the visibly harassed Commissioner. During the past few hours he had impatiently been waiting for his butler's call, and now he listened closely to his friend's words.

"Master Bruce, concerning the material you brought to me for an analysis earlier, there is something you should see..."

* * *

After finishing his call, Batman seemed to be in even more of a hurry than before, Gordon observed. The man cloaked with his black cape abruptly turned towards him and grasped his shoulders with sudden force, making the Commissioner flinch involuntarily.  
The thought that those hands had crushed criminals' bones casually crossed his mind.

"Gordon! There is important business I must attend to. Are you sure – and I mean _really_ sure – that your people can handle this until I'm back?"

_When the hell had the GCPD become so dependent on this man!_ "Yes," he replied firmly.

For a few seconds Batman remained motionless, intensively looking into his opposite's eyes as if struggling to come to a grave decision. Even though his true emotions were obscure, Gordon imagined a frown beneath the coal. Right at this moment the armored gloves let go of him and he was left watching the Dark Knight's departure with a sick feeling in his stomach.  
Perhaps it was just the pessimist in him breaking through, but slowly he got the feeling that this day would end in a disaster.

"Commissioner?" the voice of the head of Special Unit 1 peeked through to him from his left. "Sir, the mayor contacted me and expressed his concern about the fact that we are already two hours late. Permission to open the doors for the guests, sir?"

Gordon sighed, and mentally guarded himself against the most stressful 24 hours of his life.

"Permission granted."

* * *

So the police had apparently handled their issues, finally. One after the other the little sheep were streaming into the building, chatting, squeaking, laughing, pushing, _breathing_. Yes, how dreadfully innocent they were breathing in the oh-so-harmless aerosols these monkeys in pretty uniforms did not even remotely comprehend.

In fact, the chemical particles in the air were the first half of its precious concoction, and the villain could hardly wait for the crowd to swallow the second one, which the police was still oblivious to. Indeed, terror was lurking in the massive bowl of punch.

It had written down the formula Jonathan had created by accident in their notebook. Splitting it into two separate chemicals and storing them in powder form, which could be mixed with liquid at will, had been surprisingly easy. During the past days, though, the Scarecrow had been working hard to remove all hints of taste or smell from the two separate concoctions. With success. The unfortunate Ian had served his purpose, after all.

Here, in the airy heights of the roof of the town hall, was the the perfect place to watch the delightful disaster ahead. A cruel snicker escaped the Scarecrow's mouth as it crouched at the edge of the famous glassy sphere, pressing the burlap of its mask against the cold surface with feverish anticipation.

Presently, its piercing eyes were following the mayor's solemn walk to the speaker's podium.

Why did these dumb creatures always have to make such a big fuss about everything? Even from this distance the Scarecrow could tell that most attendants felt more drawn to the buffet than to listening to the cliches the conceited hypocrite was about to tell them.

Anyway – soon enough, all those hapless slaves of society would raise their glasses to celebrate the city of Gotham and end up pouring the essence of _fear_. The mere thought made the villain's excitement grow to infinity and left its hands trembling.

Besides the irksome, little delay, everything went exactly according to its plan. It was perfect, flawlessly perfect, and one day even grumpy Jonathan would no longer be able to avoid acknowledging this success. _You should be happy to observe a true master, old boy!_

Suddenly, a small, hard object hit its temple with a painful blow. Caught off-guard, the Scarecrow turned ferociously to face whoever dared to interrupt its triumph. Since the large brim of its floppy hat as well as the mask reduced its field of vision, the first thing it spotted was an ornamented, silver tea spoon on the ground reflecting the sunlight.  
Slowly it raised a gloved hand to adjust the hat by lifting the brim. Its gaze did not need to trace the imaginary path back to the spoon's origins for it to know who had the gall to disturb the ultimate triumph of Fear over Gotham.

The urge to give free rein to its rage was sending waves of repulsion through its body it could hardly repress. Its breath came fitfully in a vain effort of staying calm. _How dare he, a joke of a __villain who drew the inspiration for his crimes from a children's book, ignore the Scarecrow's __authority and come here now?_

The Hatter just stood there at the opposite side of the roof. He had donned his favourite clothes, consisting of a checked shirt, a mismatched bow tie and the long coat and hat, both of which were green and blood-stained. It was in fact the first time the Scarecrow saw the Hatter's full costume since Jervis and Jonathan had escaped from the Asylum together.

Out of the corner of its eyes the straw man noticed that several floors below the speech had just begun. Time was getting short, but the villain estimated the minutes left to be sufficient to rid itself of this problem once and for all. Oh, it would be enjoying this!

Determined, it stretched its spine to its full height as a gesture of intimidation and display of self-confidence. Thus, it easily towered above Jervis and even his large hat, which did not make much of a difference. A constant breeze kept moving the ragged burlap and the short, black cape of the Scarecrow's suit, thus supporting the impression of a looming shadow. An even larger one was cast on the roof by its tall figure due to the shallow angle of the sunlight.

Firmly, it made the first move towards the blonde man, who, in response, hastily took a few steps aside in order to keep his distance. A second attempt of open confrontation ended likewise. Eventually, the they ended up circling each other like two rivaling wolves, their eyes never leaving their targets.

Growing impatient, the Master of Fear was the first to raise its voice, "Whatever the purpose of your daring appearance here might be, it was foolish of you to bother me." And in a sharp undertone of threat, including an effective pause, it added, "Surely you remember my warning?"

A meaningful silence followed when the Hatter failed to show the reaction expected. His features were contorted to a tortured grimace, his usual grin stuck somewhere between a smirk and a snarl. He simply continued their circular dance, hopping from one foot to the other with an erratic quickness that involuntarily reminded the Scarecrow of a rat.

As suddenly as he changed his position, Jervis spoke, "You are guilty, guilty, guilty of a crime worth chopping your head off for! My dear, consider me you executioner."

"I take it you've received my little gift, and reduced yourself to a nonsense-gibbering idiot again. Tell me, what was it like to see this unique terror in Alice's pretty eyes?" the Scarecrow asked sinisterly. "No, let me guess – she was already comatose when you found her?"  
The tall villain's features brightened when it saw the Hatter's pace falter for a split-second, thus proving its suspicion. The Scarecrow gave a cacophonous laugh, drawing closer to its enemy.  
"She will die."

"No, no, no!" Jervis shrieked. "My lady is safe with me!"

"My knowledge goes far beyond your pretty brain science. Just because you're keeping her body alive it doesn't mean she will regain consciousness. Face it, she's lost!"

"_'Speak English!' said the Eagle_," the blonde screamed, seeking refuge in quotations from his favourite author. He pressed his hands on his ears and shook his head as if trying to shake off the thought the Scarecrow had implanted into his mind. "_I don't know the meaning of half those long words, and– _" The Hatter stopped, breaking his pattern abruptly. "...and you must be punished!"

With this, he bridged their remaining distance with a few great leaps. His intention seemed to be a – rather ineffective – punch at chest height with his right fist, which the Scarecrow did hardly dodge as it foresaw the Hatter would miss.

To its surprise, it hurt nonetheless – there was a large, horizontal cut from one shoulder to the other parting its shirt. The thick fabric used to be a good protection, so there was a chance for the skin beneath it to be only superficially scratched.

But Jervis was already starting another attack.

This time the Scarecrow caught a glimpse at his weapon – it was one of his mind control cards with razor-sharp edges. "Oh no, you're gonna regret that!" it hissed. Prepared, it blocked the Hatter's arm and countered with a nasty strike at his shoulder.

A yelp of pain escaped Jervis's mouth when the Scarecrow hit him. The card fell to the ground when he stumbled backwards, and merely for a second he concentrated on preventing falling rather than watching his opponent. Just in time he ducked to escape a whole series of blows. For once his size was his advantage!  
_Fight, fight, fight the Bandersnatch!_, a voice kept shouting inside his head with a throbbing rhythm and made his blood boil. "For my queen!" he screamed and lunged at his enemy. He pulled the other's hat over its eyes. Then, with unexpected force, the Hatter gave the Scarecrow a kick in a part that squeezed the air out of its lungs.

"Wait, you little–" the taller villain cursed before its words trailed off to be replaced by an agonized groan. Its confusion opened a chance for the Hatter to dash off in an unknown direction. Angrily it whipped its hat off, glimpsing a shadow approaching from behind. Immediately it knew that the much smaller man's only chance to win was to make it fall, and it reacted accordingly.

The Scarecrow spun round, catching Jervis in the act of pulling its feet away, and – using the momentum of its move – it stretched its leg to kick the smaller man's legs away in turn.

With a loud thump the Hatter's body hit the flat roof and his head bumped against the low border that separated them from the chasm.

Before he was able to recover, the Scarecrow has jumped to his side and seized him at his collar. Satisfied to see its opponent's dazed expression, it cooed, "Didn't we have this situation before? What a déjà vu!"

Suddenly, Jervis's condition changed and he was wide-awake. While his right hand tightly grasped the Scarecrow's sleeves to fix its hands, his left arm jolted forward. Something was shining silvery between his fingers – another tea spoon, but with a pointed end.  
Like a dagger he held it. The sharp metal was being pressed against the other's throat.

Both men froze, aware of the decisiveness of the moment.

"You won our little game, it seems," was the Scarecrow's constrained remark. "But let me give you these words to consider," it whispered, its heartbeat racing. Leaning as closely to the Hatter as it dared without risking to have its skin pierced by the spoon, it uttered"if you kill me, you will kill Jonathan, too."

For some endless seconds, it felt the pointed spoon cutting deeper into its flesh.

Then, eventually, it was drawn back. A terrible unease was reflected in Jervis's light blue eyes. Inwardly, the Scarecrow let out a sigh of relief, loosening its grip at the blonde's collar in turn.

"My, my! Who would have thought that there could be such nobleness in a psycho's heart. However, there is one problem remaining." Its grip was fastened anew.  
"There... is... none... in mine!"

With this, it flung the Hatter's body over the edge of the roof.

Several floors below, the mayor had finished his speech, and people were beginning to devour the buffet and drink the steaming punch.

The Master of Fear watched its latest victim fall, laughing hysterically. Inside its mind, Jonathan panicked.

* * *

_A/N: Another cliffhanger... hope my readers won't mind? :D _  
_Thanks for stopping by, and feel free to leave a comment with your opinion ;) The illustration isn't ready yet, but it will follow sometime (then to be found on my profile page)._


	14. The Reign Ends

A constant, strong wind blew on Jervis's back that made him feel as light as a feather. All previous tension was released at once, and he even had trouble remembering what it was that had upset him.  
His eyes noticed an odd sight: someone – no, it was his friend Jonathan! He recognized that funny, old mask he liked to wear – was looking at him, bent over some kind of edge. _Perhaps it is a wall? _he mused. Jervis was certain it was made of stone. And glass.

However, his friend's silhouette seemed to back away as it was constantly becoming smaller. This input made no sense to the Hatter's fogged mind, so he did what he always did when this happened, and dismissed the thought. Instead, he glimpsed at the August sun through squinted eyes and embraced its warmth.  
More and more, a strange happiness took possession of his heart. Was this Wonderland? Had he finally _arrived_? With childish glee he could not help but smile, beaming with joy at this peaceful moment. Somehow he felt like falling asleep.

Only a few most unpleasant sounds disrupted his perfect harmony. Someone was – no, many people were shouting and roaring like a thousand lions, but why? With displeasure he observed an ugly, expanding dark spot flawing his vision on the sun and the crystal blue sky. Little did he know that it was the first sign of his consciousness breaking through.

* * *

The air had been ripped apart by a roaring thunder. Shortly after, a huge, black bird had come into sight, heading for its destination at lunatic speed. The jet engines of the Batwing had slowed it down abruptly and rotated by 90 degrees to allow a stand-still in mid-air, thus putting any military helicopter to shame. Those who had not been blown off their feet by the strong wind it caused stood looking up in a mixture of fright and awe, oblivious to the scenario that had just unfolded on the roof.

The wind was burning in the Scarecrow's eyes and made them tear. The villain had trouble standing upright while it was bracing its meagre weight against this force that threatened to send it after the Hatter.  
As soon as the massive aircraft was hovering just a few metres above the flat roof, a hatch in the bird's front was yanked open. _Curse him and his damnable timing! _The Scarecrow watched powerlessly while Batman firmly set a boot on the outer shell, aimed his grapple gun and shot the metal claw after the falling body. The incredible noise from the engines covered any possible crash between bones and asphalt, thus making it impossible to tell if the Bat had succeeded.

_He- he secured the rope to the seat! Did you see? _it simultaneously heard Jonathan's still dismayed voice inside its head. _He might still be alive! For pity's sake, let me see that he's alive!_

_That claw is not made for catching people. He could have been pierced like a fleeing deer by a hunter's arrow, _the Master of Fear commented dryly, not willing to admit a possible failure. Easily it cut out its alter ego's lamenting and fought its way to the giant glass sphere in the center, the only thing to hold on to. It needed to get off of this roof immediately! Up here was no place to hide from the massive aircraft. Yet the only stairwell down lead right into the mass of celebrating guests and, more importantly, police forces.

* * *

Suddenly, an extremely sharp pain in Jervis's left ankle woke him from his fantasies with brutal force. Within a cruel split-second he was brought back to reality. A horrible sound of tearing flesh left the extent of damage done to his leg to the Hatter's feverish imagination.

The next moment he found himself hanging upside down, violently rocking to and fro with a sickening rhythm. Beneath him, he faced a crowd of gaping citizens and police officers.

He had nearly fallen to death, and that at the Scarecrow's hands! Once this realization had found its way into Jervis's thinking, it hit him with a heaviness beyond measures. Although the ache in his leg had been replaced by an alarming numbness, his control over his rebelling stomach was rapidly slipping away. His panicking, irrational mind forced him to hyperventilate and he chocked uncontrolledly at the tears streaming over his face.

Yet no merciful unconsciousness prevented him from further terror and humiliation. So he clearly heard it when someone beneath him shouted, "Hey, look, I caught his hat! It's worth a fortune!"

* * *

The mere seconds that had passed since the Batwing's arrival felt much longer. Moving against the sharp wind had been worse than treading water, and its muscles screamed from the effort. Digging its nails into every gap it found, the Scarecrow made its way around the sphere to escape the influence of the jet engines.

_What the hell is he doing?_, it thought as it observed the still hovering, massive bird. Its controller, with a hard look in his eyes, was pulling the hatch back shut as if he intended to sit it out. How was he going to infringe its victory from in there? Had he possibly decided that it was too late to prevent those people from drinking the punch?

The villain stopped short when it noticed a strange sound permeating even that unbearable noise. It started as a vibrating hum, but soon changed into a piercing shriek that still kept increasing its volume until it overlapped the engines completely.

Agitated, the straw man made a vain attempt at covering it ears with a hand and one shoulder while it needed the remaining hand to hold on tightly to the elegant, coppered construction. At last, it realized what was going to happen within the next few seconds, and for the first time since it had taken control, it shared its alter ego's feeling of distress.

Hectically, it started waving its free hand at Batman. "Hey, stop that thing! Can't you see I'm still up here?" the Scarecrow and Jonathan shouted simultaneously, one in silence and the other with words that drowned in the noise at once. But their adversary's face remained as expressionless as if carved in stone.

The shrieking reached its pitch – and unleashed the Bat's Cry. The Batwing fired an incredibly powerful sonic wave at the glass sphere. First it hit the glass itself, which shattered into a million pieces and was immediately pulverised and blown away. Then it hit the stunned villain.

* * *

Nobody inside the town hall had noticed the battle taking place outside. Only when the roof seemed to explode with a deafening noise, the guests stopped dead in their tracks. Half empty and untouched glasses of punch were dropped as the crowd instinctively raised its protecting arms in unison.

The unimpeded view of the light blue sky was revealed through the construction of bent, square pieces of copper. The remains of the pulverized glass was blown inside and slowly settled down, glistening like dust particles in the sun. People were gaping at the circular hole in the ceiling, most of them in shock and some others, already under the influence of the newly composed toxin, with pure fright. It took only seconds until one of them, the mayor, perceived the fine cracks that spread around the metal bordering.

Right when he shouted a warning through the hall, the coppered framework sunk and began breaking through the ceiling.

* * *

The concept of sound itself exploded with a glaring flash of acoustic perception. The only noise remaining was the muffled rushing of its blood in its ears, accompanied by a constant, high-pitched whistle. An intense feeling of disorientation flared up and caused its muscles to disobey its orders, dangerously loosening its grip on the metal.

All of a sudden, the Master of Fear found itself frantically trying to stay connected to the framework of sphere, bathed in cold sweat with the effort of preventing to be blown off the roof like an autumn leaf. Where was the ground again? Its surroundings continued to spin and began to crack open like in one of its fear gas-induced hallucinations – except for the fact that the Scarecrow had no power over these very real events. It cried out with yet another summoning of its decreasing strength, or at least it believed it did because its ears failed to register anything.

_Is this the end? Doesn't he see that he's killing us? _the villain asked almost timidly, feeling its fingers loosening their pressure. It had directed the questions at no one in particular, but inwardly it hoped to evoke any kind of reaction from its alter ego. Yet Jonathan was paralysed with fear.

Then, without further warning, the ground broke away and several tons of material were set in motion. As slowly the process had started, as quickly it was over. Once freed from the supporting cement, the entire spherical construction crashed down onto the unfortunate guests standing in its way. The ground floor was no match for the immense impact and gave in beneath it, as did the basement, eventually collapsing into the mouldered sewers in a huge pile of debris.

* * *

Having programmed his aircraft to land in front of the hall on autopilot, Batman was the first to search for survivors even before the dust had settled. He was aware that it was a vain effort, for nobody could have been buried by these masses of metal and stone and lived, but he needed this task to calm his own agitated mind. _This should never have happened_, he told himself, _the sonic canon could impossibly have had the power to destabilize the roof!_ On ground level, the cries of shocked citizens filled the air, above them all a wife wailing with the pain of having witnessed her husband's death. Bruce ignored them, trusting Gordon's men to handle the panic with the help of the antidote Alfred had created from the toxin sample. He had informed the Commissioner that he would find a sufficient supply stored inside the Batwing.

With his own hands he lifted the heavy pieces one by one, quickly working up a sweat, each time fearing what he might discover. The sludge from the sewer stuck to his boots and the stones, making them slippery and difficult to move.

With a sick feeling in his stomach, he tried not to think of the many deaths this whole affair had caused. If only he had stopped this disaster earlier! The cure came too late for so many, and who knew how many lives had been crushed under–

_God, no!_ Batman exhaled sharply, unable to tear his eyes away from that all too familiar piece of burlap showing in a gap within the rubble. Anxiously, he began digging. Images of injuries and violence flashed up inside his mind, collected since the night his parents were murdered brutally, while he was silently preparing himself for the worst as he removed the last stone – but all he saw was the Scarecrow's mask, torn and bloody.

Out of the corner of his eye, he perceived a small movement on the other side of the pile, and immediately went to help the survivor. What he saw made his jaw drop in disbelief.

Before his eyes Crane, that indestructible man, slowly pulled himself out from the rubble and stood up on shaky legs. His mask was missing, revealing ruffled, auburn hair framing a haggard, scratched face. Red stubbles of a beard shadowed the skin around slightly parted lips. The villain upheld this posture for a while longer, staring at the Caped Crusader through glazed, bloodshot eyes, before he collapsed into Batman's arms.

* * *

Gordon's team had done a good job clearing the area of nosy bystanders. They had sent home everyone who was able to leave on his own, and seen to medical and psychological attendance for the injured and intoxicated.

Batman had stayed to ensure the proper treatment of the madmen. Alas, he knew from experience that some of the specialized personnel tended to be purposefully inattentive when the Arkham patients needed special care. The hateful gaze a group of paramedics had shot Crane when Bruce had brought them his limb body had been enough to convince him of the necessity of his presence.

Two dead persons had been found crushed right beneath the first layer of debris. Paralysed by the Scarecrow's toxin as they had been, they had never stood a chance.

The prison transporter was the last to leave. Bruce watched the Hatter, a nervous wreck wrapped into several blankets so that he could barely move, being taken inside before the motor started and the security van drove off down the road to the Asylum.

"Well, and so it ends, Scarecrow's reign of terror," a voice beside him concluded.

"For now," was the Dark Knight's crisp reply. Again, his victory did not feel like one.

"You are still worrying about the roof, aren't you?" Gordon tried, judging from the silence that he was right. "You know, we kept an eye on the erection of this building a few years ago. Some things were a bit strange about it, and I am quite certain we're dealing with sloppy, illegal work here. It's a miracle it didn't come down earlier."

Even this did apparently nothing to brighten Batman's dark mood. Nobody would blame him for what happened, considering the fact that he had saved so many lives by his interference and by developing the badly needed cure. The Commissioner felt the odd urge to give the much taller figure a fatherly pat on the shoulder, but he did not dare to actually do it.

Feeling awkward, he cleaned his glasses instead – but when he put them back on his nose, the Caped Crusader had, without any sound, disappeared once more.

* * *

_A/N: This took eternities to write, mostly because I had not planned in advance what I wanted it to end like. However, this glass sphere was invented solely for the purpose of falling. Consider it my personal little chandelier crash, if you know what I mean ;)_  
_BUT WAIT, this is not over yet. As promised, a 15th chapter will follow that will allow John & Jervis to have their much-needed talk._

_The respective illustration will be linked on my profile as soon as it exists. Thanks for reading, and I hope that I'm not that much out of practise with my writing. Let me know what you think about this chapter! :)_


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